Fishbowl
by PlutoCookie
Summary: Mycroft would never admit to being lonely or caring. But all of that changes when an ex-psychologist comes within his sights and reads him like a book. Perhaps he can have a goldfish for a companion afterall.
1. Chapter 1

Another sigh and nervous fidget with the uncomfortable woollen jumper. A nervous glance at the bleak city scape of his new environment. _Their_ new environment. Only his wife and the government of two countries knew why he had to up and move from California to London. The pitter patter of rain against glass eased the highly strung man. His son, barely 6 years old, stared wide eyed, mouth agape and pointing incredulously at the sight of the famous tall clock tower.

"B-B-Ben!" he stammered. Smiling fondly, the father brushed back strands of his son's jet-black bowl-cut hair.

"Yeah, that's Big Ben, little Ben" he winked, trying to appear relaxed for his family's sake. It did not quite do the trick, however. The tension lingered between him and his wife. She had always hated the depressing climate of northern states back home. Now, she would need to get a plane, a ferry or even drive through a very long tunnel is she wanted to reach a sunnier climate. All of this was juvenile and disregarded for the case of necessity. It was _necessary_ (he had emphasised and pleaded for her not to divorce him) that they allow themselves to be relocated. It was in the hands of the government to do what was best. In time, he hoped that they could stop throwing anxious glances over their shoulders. One day, perhaps they could set foot on American soil again and breathe in air that smelled of freedom, like their forefathers before them. Until then, however, they would make do with the never-ending rainfall and adjust their taste to find tea with milk stirred through it as pleasant, rather than foreign.

The cab pulled to a stop outside their hotel. They would spend a few days in London to get the details sorted out with their new government. After all the formalities of being passed from one witness protection programme to international allies was in order, they were to receive the keys to their new (temporary?) home in Northumberland. The door was opened and they were escorted into the lobby. It wasn't the Hilton or the Ritz, but something about the _Flower Bed_ had a unique charm to it. It was quite welcoming and cosy, with a hint of elegance. There was plenty of friendly staff, bustling about and seeing to the needs of their guests. Business men were being ushered into meeting rooms, tourists were taken aside for directions to sites and tours of interest. Despite the energy and action, the hotel lobby maintained a low noise level and unobstructed space for security and cleaning-staff to glide by, unhindered. This was something that was much needed for the weary travellers. Their hosts checked them in quite quickly and with gentle, reassuring smiles. Their bags were looked after by the concierge and they were swiftly shown to their rooms.

On entering, they were greeted with a soothing blue and yellow room. It was spacious enough, fitted with a broad suede couch, glass coffee-table, a flat-screen T.V., full length windows over-looking the busy city streets and a separate bedroom with an en suite. In the main living-area, there was also a station for tea/coffee, a mini-fridge, phone with a service menu and complimentary chocolates. As well as the delightful wall-paper patterns, there was several unique paintings of still-life, anonymous models and landscapes donning the walls. All of this contributed to the peaceful and inviting atmosphere which the hotel had so far evoked. Overwhelmed by the hospitality and thoroughly satisfied with their room, the concierge modestly and politely refused a tip from the man in question. He felt defeated, his esteem as a man trying to be strong for his family eating him away as he could sense his wife and son observing the encounter from the background.

"Damnit man, don't make me look even more the fool in front of my family" he groaned quietly, grasping the man tightly by his shoulder and forcing a crumpled 10 pound note into his breast pocket. Appearing abashed, the young service man bowed his head in thanks and offered the new guests his sincerest wishes that their stay was comfortable and not to hesitate to ask for anything while they remained under their roof. He then let himself out, allowing the family some time to process the events which had lead them to occupy such a space.

After a late-afternoon nap and dinner provided by room-service, a knock on the door resonated throughout the room. Adrenaline surged through the man's veins and he motioned for his wife to stay by their son. He began to perspire and tremble slightly.

"Who is it?" he hoarsely asked through the thick lump forming in his throat.

"Mr. Conway, I'm here to escort you to your meeting with Mr. Holmes. I understand you must be tired, but it should only take an hour at most. If it is convenient, your wife and son may remain in the room or attend with you, if they feel up to it. I shall be here in the hall when you are ready to go" a female voice answered. A wave of relief washed over him like a bucket of ice. He was still on tender hooks, yet something about the voice on the other side of the door reassured him that everything would be fine. He crossed the room to gently kiss his wife on the cheek and ruffled his son's hair in his familiar way.

"I'll be back soon. Our new story starts soon, eh?" he whispered, on the verge of betraying his inner turmoil. His wife squeezed his hand tightly, eyes pleading for him to come back safe, lower lip protruding with emotion. Their son watched the silent interaction taking place between his parents. Not knowing what was happening, yet not wanting to ask, he simply hugged their legs and closed his eyes, wishing that whatever new job his dad had gotten, it would stop scaring his mom and pop so much.

The meeting went smoothly and Mr. Conway left with a folder of notes, passports, I.D.s, etc., that would ensure a smooth transition and integration into his new Northumberland life. The Conway's would stay in London for a further 2 days before being transported to their new house. He saw himself out of the board-room and retraced his steps upstairs. Mycroft continued to oversee arrangements and appointed for Anthea to communicate their progress to their associated overseas. He then figured he'd earned himself a quick cup of tea before departing from the premises. He was just pouring himself a cup from the complimentary tray that was prepared for their appointment when the same woman who had shown Mr. Conway to the meeting room poked her head in the door and approached the table.

"All went well, I hope?" she inquired politely. She had come to clear away the tray after seeing Mr. Conway entering the elevator in the lobby, but on seeing Mycroft still taking advantage of the room, she decided she should withdraw.

"As well as one would expect. Please, sit down" he said gesturing to a chair in front of which he placed the freshly poured cuppa and proceeded to pour another one for himself. Finding it futile to refuse him, she complied and took an appreciative sip of her tea.

"I take it you are working late this evening?" Mycroft inquired, though he already knew the answer. The slight quirk of her brows informed him that she knew he knew her schedule.

"Need I remind you of my observation? You seem to always schedule your most emotionally vulnerable cases too times when I will be working in case of some needed psychological assessments or interventions. And that includes when I am called into work without reason or rhyme" she hummed. It was true. If there happened to be persons of interest staying in the hotel, she would be called in and receive texts asking her to investigate them and their rooms. If there were civilians that were being protected and in emotional states, she would be asked to spend her time putting them at ease and ensuring their security. All of this of course would be managed discreetly. She would handle their room allocation, schedule to clean the rooms at times in which to 'accidently' intrude and make idle chit-chat. She could be the perfect chameleon when he needed her to be. Every other day, she was simply a maid, a waitress or a receptionist. It was never strictly an agreement that they came to that she would do as he asked her to. It simply began as a favour turned in kind for his recommending her to the employer when the hotel was being built. And then it happened again. And again and so forth.

"So how is your marvellous brother these days? Is he still solving cases as often as he used to?" she asked offering a digestive biscuit from a saucer. He selected a chocolate coated one while answering her.

"Yes, well Sherlock is pining for company on his cases, whether he'll freely admit it or not, but the Watsons do not get nearly enough sleep as of late due to all the night-awakenings. They were hoping you'd be free to look after their neonate for a night or t-"

"You mean their _baby_?" Ciara interrupted, a bemused smile creeping across her features.

"Did I stutter? So long as you understand what I've said, does it matter what specific word I use?" Mycroft retorted, grimacing slightly at the thought of using the word 'baby' in a non-teasing context. Ciara rolled her eyes at his cold demeanour, as he munched on his biscuit.

"Yes, it does. It's more _human_ to use the generic term 'baby' when it's a more personal context you're speaking of. Not like we're speaking of a court case or the Discovery Channel" she answered him. She shook her head and smirked sadly "It's like you forget you're human".

"Perhaps that's what I would have you believe" he added thoughtfully, wiping crumbs from the corner of his mouth.

"To what end? Do you enjoy it when I take the time to remind you?" she asked softly, leaning her elbows on the table in front of her. She could sense his stiffening, the aura around him becoming rather awkward, causing her to sit back respectfully. While she enjoyed going head-to-head with him, she disliked making the experience uncomfortable for either side. Their dynamic was a peculiar one for a couple, though it made sense to them. They enjoyed each other's company, more than the physical side of things. It was mind over matter that made things work. Plus, years of experience with body language and manipulative game play had taught her to know when to retreat and when to use distractor tactics. Hence, now was not the time to break his space bubble. "So, I believe you were about to ask me to babysit the Watson's child as a favour to your brother?".


	2. Chapter 2

It would happen time and again where something would go wrong and by chance, the authorities would catch the enigmatic man before them. He went by many aliases, but Mycroft was coming to know this man as Jim Moriarty. He was good at staying under the radar. He hardly ever got caught, hardly ever got his hands dirty, which is ironic because his grubby hands were buried deepest in all the murky mechanics of the underworld. No matter how many times he appeared in court, he never seemed to be given a sentence. The red flag had only recently been put on him, and today, Mycroft was there to witness first-hand the proceedings and handlings of his case to try and assess just how it was that he could get off scot free when all odds appeared to be against him. The court heard both sides of the case, the attorneys argued back and forth and the lead forensic psychologist gave their assessment. It was all rather dull and mundane until the assisting psychologist was asked to make a statement.

"There's just something, not quite sitting right. He….."she trailed off quietly. The whispers and mumbles began to flow through the room, making an awfully distracting disturbance. The lead psychologist could be seen to shake their head disapprovingly, as if to say 'abandon your naïve conspiracy theories'. The judge hammered the gavel and called for order and a respectful hush resumed. The defendant stared smugly as the woman seemed to be grasping at straws. He knew he had the upper hand. Nothing she could say would alter the outcome he had devised. Like many times before, he would walk and continue with his game. The rest of the audience seemed disinterested in what she would say. Some supposed she was just trying to show off for her superiors. Others supposed her to be weak and that she was trying to sympathise with the defendant (the more sexist members at least seemed to follow this logic). But Mycroft could see exactly what was happening. She was searching for the correct words. Not merely blurting our words with no purpose so that they could be manipulated and corrupted. No, she was deliberate, selective and conscious of what it was she would say. It was incredible and fascinating for Mycroft, standing there and watching as figurative cogs turned in the woman's head, neurons firing and slapping off a blockade, refusing her to fit the final piece of transmitted energy in order for her revelation to be realised. The perplexed expression on her face brought out a ghost of a smile on his face. He felt a glimmer of pleasure as her clouded eyes suddenly lit up and she resurfaced from the depths of her unrecognised mind-palace.

"He is a psychopath. He is a _bored_ psychopath, which is what makes him so dangerous. Most psychopaths which have been clinically diagnosed are those in prisons. They present with various features and traits to the extent that they are considered abnormal of lay people. He is not your average _criminal_ who goes about committing crime for the pleasure or ambition of it. He does it to occupy his time. There is no pleasure derived from it in the sense that we understand pleasure" she explained carefully, still struggling to verbalise what it was exactly that she had figured out. Perhaps, those thoughts were far too complex for words to do justice. One thing was for certain. Mycroft had found a mind with potential of being great. Not greater than his, and perhaps, not greater than his brother's, but certainly above average. Moriarty tilted his head slightly. Now, she had piqued his interest. She had made a valid and probably accurate assessment of him, without having done much of the investigative work. He knew she had probably read a but of his case files and observed him from behind the two-way mirrors, but she had been the first in a long time to make a different observation to the well-trained criminologists he had managed to beguile. The court adjourned and he was taken away to await his sentence. The judge and jury retired for the day and witnesses filed out through the rear exits. From the balcony, Mycroft's eyes followed the psychologist's form, carefully filing away her case study notes into her bag and leaving with her colleague. He sat back thoughtfully, evaluating his next move for Moriarty and filing away the name and contact details of the personnel involved in his case. Perhaps there would come a day in which he would need the assistance of that brilliant mind he had just observed.


	3. Chapter 3

It was years before their paths crossed again. Ciara had left her job as a forensic psychologist, preferring to travel around Europe and Asia while funds permitted her such luxuries. During this time, she had done the touristy bits of site-seeing, hiked many mountains and volunteered at animal sanctuaries. Having spent a lot of money on transport, food and activities, she decided she would work part-time in a hotel in Cannes. It allowed her to gain some human interaction, something she came to miss after spending so long travelling alone and doing things off the beaten track with the aim of avoiding external interference. She had had enough of going days without uttering a word of conversation and figured service industry was the next step in her adventure.

One afternoon, she and some other maids were in the midst of cleaning out the rooms on the fifth floor when screams were heard from outside. Curious about the commotion, they approached the window and found a mass of people looking to the roof and pointing, expressions of awe and horror evident in the crowd below. Ciara stuck her head out the window and twisted to get a better view. She gasped to find a man only two stories above her, standing at the ledge with a look of absolute dread and despair. She quickly pulled herself in and dashed for the stairwell. She failed to notice that, not far below, a team of government agents were creeping their way up the stairwell. She gingerly opened the door to the roof and walked out under the blazing sun. A breeze swept her hair over her shoulders and she allowed it to guide her gently over to where the man was hysterically crying and sobbing out his final Ave Marias.

"Sir, please, why are you up here?" she asked him over the sound of the wind and streets below. He looked over his shoulder, misery etched across his face.

"Don't try stop me!" he screamed, swaying and wobbling to maintain his balance. Ciara held her hand submissively and ceased her movements. "Please, I just want to know what has driven you to this? As a member of staff, I need to know what it was about our service that was so disagreeable" she tried to joke. Unfortunately, joking was not her strong suit.

"You think this is funny? You think this is about your god damn hotel!? You know nothing! You don't understand what they'll do if I don't…if I don't!..." he began to sob again. Well, at least now she knew of his intent, motivations and commitment. She could work with this.

"So, something bad will happen if you jump. But you don't want to jump really. I can tell that. You'd miss all of this. This beautiful sun and ocean breezes" she said, noting his tanned skin which suggested he enjoyed hot climates though not in a way that suggested he was tanned from manual labour. "And what about your family who I'm sure would be devastated if something happened to you" she coaxed as the sunlight bounced off his golden wedding band. She could see his face contorting with emotional pain and distress. So his family must be threatened if he doesn't jump. "Sir, whatever it is, I'm sure we can find another way to help" she said. "I'm not going to force you back over the ledge, I just want to sit beside you if that's ok?" she said, slowly walking over to the edge of the building, being sure to stay a few feet away from the man. He watched her cautiously and pointed his finger warningly at her. "Not an inch closer or I'm going to go….I….I'll do it" he croaked, gasping for breath.

"I promise you, I'm over here when you want to come near me if you need a hug or anything. Until then though, I'm just enjoying the view. So like I was trying to say, I get that your family are in danger, but I don't think they want you to put yourself in danger for their sake. If you fight fire with fire, you get burned. Do them a favour and extinguish the flames for better or worse. If you come with me, we'll find help. We'll get you an army of people to help you get your family back and set things right. Just as you're afraid to lose them, they'll be equally afraid to lose you, so don't make them feel this kind of fear, eh?" she talked on and on, not looking at him as movement from the door of the stairwell had caught her attention. A team of men were waiting at the top of the stairs, waiting for orders from their superiors as to what they should do next. The man on the ledge noticed and immediately became suspicious. Before he could get riled up, Ciara interrupted to defuse the tension. "Look! It's the army I promised you! I bet they have news or a strategy ready for you to get your family back, right?" she exclaimed loudly, forcing a fake smile onto her features as she mentally begged the others to play along with her bluff. Luckily, their leader seemed to stride confidently onto the rooftop.

"Quite right, Ms Murphy. Your family has been recovered and are currently being moved to a secluded B&B across town, Mr. Ryan. If you will follow me, I will be happy to reunite you with them and debrief you onto the….termination of the opposing parties" a British accented voice greeted. Ciara was taken aback at how this stranger would know her name. The man on the ledge, however, looked beyond appeased by his appearance on the rooftop. "Mycroft, you pulled through in the end!" he exclaimed with joy, throwing himself unceremoniously back in over the edge to the safety of the cemented building. Ciara watched in puzzlement at the instant curative effect the arrival of the mysterious British man had on Mr. Ryan. He must be a significant factor in the situation so as to have a critical effect on the final outcome. But how did he come to know my name?

The troupe of men began to retreat back down the stairs, escorting Mr. Ryan in their midst. Mycroft remained behind however to address the maid. "Ms. Ciara Murphy, if I'm not mistaken? Former forensic psychologist?" he seemed to be stating rather than asking for confirmation. He knew exactly who she was, but who the hell was he?! "Yes, and whom do I have the pleasure of addressing, Sir?" she forced out, offering her hand to shake. He looked at it and smiled tightly.

"Mycroft Holmes. Forgive me for not introducing myself sooner. I believe the last time our lives were intertwined was in a trivial crime case concerning a yet to be diagnosed psychopath" he hinted, not wanting to give much away in uncharted territory. Ciara's eyes narrowed suspiciously as her mind raced back to earlier days gone by. Then, it dawned on her to which case he was referring to.

"Oh, yes! I remember now seeing your name on several of the case files. You work for the British government?" she recalled.

"I occupy a minor part" he managed easily, gesturing for her to enter the stairwell so that they could begin to descend from the rooftop. She wondered as to what exactly that could possibly mean.

"You're not the most forthcoming with details. Then again, I've yet to meet a government employee who is" she mused.

"Well, to use a cliché, if I told you, I'd have to have you killed" he replied in a bored tone. "Oh, fancy that. Rather than get your hands dirty, you'd have someone else do it? Then surely you occupy more than just a minor part" she teased, clucking her tongue cheekily. Mycroft was impressed she had picked up on that much, even if it may have been an unconscious observation. He had to remind himself of his earlier deductions about how sharp her mind was.

"Well done, Ms. Murphy. Answer me this, why are you working as a maid in Cannes, rather than continuing your career as a forensic psychologist in London? You clearly would have had a promising future ahead of you"."Well, thanks I suppose. My answer to your latter statement would be that my future is promising no matter my current endeavours Mr. Holmes. To answer your question, however, I'm afraid a chain of unfortunate events followed the case which you alluded to earlier which made me suspect it was time to abandon my career and explore the world for a while" she was careful not to reveal in detail how she had been threatened and black-mailed into leaving her job. Clearly, she was a potential threat to Moriarty and anyone who worked for him, so he offered her a chance to get out of jail-free or be put down. _Don't hate the players, hate the game Ms Murphy_ had been the final note she read before fleeing the country. Mycroft knew there was a whole story there to be told and he intended to have it out of her eventually. Right at that moment though, he had another case entirely to see to that was calling him away. They had reached the ground floor and were making their way towards the exit.

"Well, Ms Murphy-".

"Please, call me Ciara".

"I'd rather not. Ms Murphy, I will be in touch with you again soon, however duty calls. Things to do, people to see" he hummed, making flippant gestures as he strode away from her to his transport. Before she could follow him or say anything in turn, a swarm of staff and witnesses flooded her path and she became overwhelmed by the enormity of attention and interaction she was getting simply for having tried to save a life. And in the end, it wasn't even her who had saved it!


	4. Chapter 4

Soon after police reports and journalists had asked their myriad of questions and translations of answers had been generated, daily routines resumed their normal course. It wasn't until almost a month after the whole ordeal that Ciara was walking home one night after having finished her 12 hour shift that a bag was thrown over her head from behind without any warning. Immediately, her instinct was to drop her knees, lean forward and throw best guess punches at her captor. She managed to land a crack inducing punch into what she assumed was the nose of her alleged kidnapper. Unfortunately, what she failed to sense was that she had more than one assailant. Two large hands grabbed her around the neck from behind and lifted her off the ground, making her feel uncomfortable and utterly helpless. She ceased her struggles, knowing she was out-matched physiologically and by mere frequency. They forced her into a vehicle (was it a mini-van?) and began to drive for what felt like an hour.

She was dragged out of the transport and brought into an enclosure. She could hear stamping of footsteps, but otherwise her senses could reveal absolutely nothing about her new environment. Without warning, she was grabbed by the shoulder and yanked back and down, falling into a chair.

"Thank you, though she is a guest at this time. There is no need for such man-handling" a familiar voice chided from directly in front of her. The bag was removed from her head and Ciara found herself in a dimly lit bunker. She was sat at a desk, across from which sat none other than Mycroft Holmes. The men who had lead her this far exited to the rear of the office and the door locking resulted in an echo resounding throughout the facilities.

What followed this was quite peculiar, though not completely unpleasant by Ciara's estimation. Mycroft would engage in some leading questions about recent events, her past and future intentions. She, in turn, would be given the benefit of asking similar questions, though Mycroft would not always answer as precisely (if at all) to her inquiries. Mycroft had intended for these meetings to be as much about him profiling her as she was him. He made his best efforts to avoid revealing too much of himself to her, though it was difficult to measure the extent of his success. Ciara, on the other hand, saw no point in concealing any information about herself. She would answer honestly where matters concerned herself in a personal manner, however when the topic of her previous work life was aroused, she would continually state that she was prevented from disclosing any further on the topic due to confidentiality. At first, Mycroft would try to pressure and trick her into revealing any facts, but found it utterly pointless as she would sit and stare at him pointedly, as if telepathically referring him to her previous protestations.

By the end of these sessions, she would be once again bagged (later blindfolded) and returned to her Cannes apartment. She had no idea what the true purpose of their meetings were, but she was intrigued and never made an issue of them. They occurred every fortnight over the course of 4 months. Ciara was beginning to feel like he was testing her, asking her for private information on guests at the hotel where she worked and revealing suspiciously open information about his work, which would later be brought up by men that flirted with her in bars. In each instance, she would refuse to let anything slip, with the tactic of changing the conversation or pretending to be very drunk and emotional as a way of avoiding any unpleasant situations. Her attempts were quite obvious to a trained eye, but it soon became clear that she was as tight-lipped as she was observant.

During one such a meeting, their conversation went a little like this:

"Any siblings?" Mycroft asked, watching from his seat as Ciara walked around the room looking at the metal walls. They weren't all that interesting, but it put her at ease to examine them rather than sitting and being examined by the man in the room. She also knew that there was a power-play routine in the way he conducted their meetings. She would be caught, caged and allowed to flitter about under the cat's nose until it was time to release her again. Today was the day she would play around though.

"I had an older brother. Drunk driver killed him about 10 years ago. You?".

"Yes, a darling brother" he answered dryly, making note to gauge the relationship she had with her brother.

"Younger then, if he is so 'darling'. Are you two close?" she asked, turning to face Mycroft. He put on his best poker-face, with just a hint of a joker's grin.

"I worry about him constantly, however he sees me more as his arch-nemesis".

"Hmm" she hummed, becoming disinterested quite quickly. It was as if she knew exactly what to expect already. Surely she couldn't though. He was curious what her estimation of their relationship was and invited her to elaborate. "Quite the typical older-younger brother relationship then. Bit of sibling rivalry where the younger follows and struggles to surpass the shadow of the elder. Seeing as you pride yourself on your intellectual and observational capabilities, it must be a rivalry between the minds. From my experience in psychology, I can tell you that intellect emerges in different ways. There are various types of intelligence. And people tend to be driven by different motivational factors. If he is driven by the need to compete and surpass you, you must have a drive to protect your younger brother. So really you are not close in the sense that you tell each other everything but you are close in a way that he depends on you for protection and you depend on him to keep motivated to stay one step ahead, even if it is just to clear the way for him to flourish" she deduced. Mycroft was stunned. She'd pulled that much out of a simple few sentences. "Your silence just now, tells me I'm not too far from home. But perhaps your pride will keep you from admitting it" she finished, observing him fully now. He pulled himself out of his thoughts and gave her a look of disdain. He was unsettled by her estimations, though he wasn't sure why. Either she was correct and he disliked it, or she was wrong and he was annoyed by the false impression she was so confident about.

"You've never met my brother, Ms Murphy, so you cannot possible understand our dynamic. However, I will concede that if our relationship were in anyway typical of siblings, then perhaps your analysis would be accurate" he smirked, resting his chin on his intertwined fingers. "Tell me, what more have you deduced about me from these encounters?". Perplexed, she took her seat and sat in deep thought for a few moments. Her eyes met his as she slowly asked "Would it be too much if I said it is unwise to practice full disclosure with an individual in the likelihood that they begin to shape and match the analysis to suit their perceptions?". A flash of annoyance spread broke out on his countenance.

"I believe I know myself well enough not to be so susceptible to changing it. I merely wish to examine your deductive capabilities" he emphasised impatiently. She swallowed nervously and steeled her nerves. What was the worst that could come of a few words?

"As I've said, you pride yourself on your intellect. Far too intellectual to be arrogant as you recognise that to be wise is to understand and acknowledge your own faults and weaknesses, yet you are still egotistical. You love your brother and he is your soft spot, but you're too proud to admit your fondness for him so you reserve that and treat it as more trivial than it really is. Probably a façade at its best if he is the person closest to your heart. You have a bit of a power complex as demonstrated by the elaborate measures you take when moving me here to have a conversation rather than allowing me to see where this location is OR simply meeting me in a public place. It could be that it is dangerous for you to be in public, but we both know that it is others that should be fearful of you and not the other way around" here she forced herself to stop. She had made some very bold statements, some of which she was just pulling out of nowhere, but then again perhaps her unconscious had observed things which she was unaware of and could only reveal in her blabbering. Mycroft looked down at his watch and observed the time and date.

"Ms Murphy, how would you like to work in a new hotel back in London? It is currently under construction but given your wisdom and experience, I think you could be of great use in the design and running of the premises?". This change in conversation completely shocked her. She had not seen this coming. She expected him to correct her observations, get offended, anything but this calm exterior, completely oblivious to what had just transpired. Instead, he was offering her employment.

"Uhm…..I accept?".


	5. Chapter 5

"I'm not lonely Sherlock".

"How would you know?". It irked him. He would never admit to it. But it was the way his brother had said it. It was like saying he had won at last. That he had made an accurate deduction about his brother that he had clearly missed. And worst of all, it was an aspect that was to be undesired. Sherlock believed he could have it all. To have both a superfluous relationship with John Watson that would fulfil his social needs and conduct his career in solving criminal cases that would satiate his intellectual needs. But Mycroft was of the opinion that to care is not an advantage. Or was it? Admittedly, he cared about his younger brother. That aspect is what drove him in his career. Mycroft would always be most active when it came to cases that would inevitably drag his younger brother to the foreground. Mycroft stared into his brandy glass, lost in his thoughts. He was passing his evening in the comfort of the Diogenes club armchair. It was deafeningly silent, just the way it ought to be. The overcast gloom of the clouds outside matched his current reflective mood.

Diverting the conversation had been his final reaction, as if by instinct. He supposed his life was rather devoid of any extra-curricular socialising. Any effort to interact with other people was strictly related to work and extended endeavours of the sort. If he wanted to, he could of course seek out the type of companion that Sherlock found in John Watson. _If_ he wanted to but he saw no reason for such a whimsy. Goldfish were positively everywhere. Such dull, boring creatures they are. And even if he had such a desire, his goldfish would have to surpass that if his brother's. Obviously. If his brother was to beat him to the punch, he would be sure that his retaliation would be of a higher grade. What was the point? To surpass his brother just because he could, only for both of them to be sat with dead pets further along the way? No, he had grown up. He knew when not to engage in such antics. Finishing his drink, it was time for him to meet with his parents for dinner. They had just arrived in town earlier that day and spent it walking around like tourists. They had insisted on making dinner plans and Mycroft saw it only proper he allow them a fraction of his time (especially if food was involved). In turn, he had Anthea arrange for the three of them to go see the latest West End craze _Les Miserables_ on the final day they were to be in town. In hindsight, he could tell it was a decision he would regret immensely.


	6. Chapter 6

Ciara had drawn the short straw for New Year's Eve. She was stuck doing the night shift in reception, but after check-in hours, she was required to help out in the bar area as one of their recent waitresses had rang in 'sick'. More than likely, she was out on the town to ring in the New Year like many others across the globe. The Flower Bed hotel was a unique sort of setting. They had their main bar/restaurant where there was much of a buzz and atmosphere for younger guests to dine and socialise. Afternoon teas and a selection of national and international meals could be had all year around. As it was the Christmas season, the chef was specialising in Scandinavian dishes to pay homage to the origin of the holidays. Thick, creamy porridge with a dash of cardamom and cinnamon could be smelt at the breakfast buffet. Skolebrod and cinnamon buns appeared every morning alongside the scones and croissants. Gingerbread shapes and figures came with every coffee or hot chocolate and made an appearance in the afternoon tea menu. In the evenings, open sandwiches on rye were optional as starters and a warming stew or Swedish meatballs could be had for main course.

For the more elder generation and guests who were unaccompanied and preferred more seclusion to unwind, there was a lobby to the back of the premises with a self-service beverage counter and comfortable seating arrangements spread across a large hall. When the building was originally being built, it was intended as a ballroom, however, with the addition of the innovative ex-psychologist, the décor was altered to provide a haven for those who needed a home away from home. The vibe it gave off was like that of an Edwardian library, though there was only a few bookcases dotted around the room, between house plants and modern artwork displays.

It was in the main restaurant that Ciara found herself helping out the most. After the evening dinner rush had finished up, she had more time to spend checking up on reception, calling cabs for guests to head out to local clubs and making sure that each room that ordered alcohol were kept topped up. Finally, she was given the nod from the bar staff to take her break before the countdown and the next line of work came up. She made herself a strong cup of coffee and snuck away into the recess of the quieter lounge room. She was pleased with herself from having suggested such a space. It really was an inviting setting if you just wanted a few minutes of peace. In this way, the hotel could offer the best of both worlds: a fun lively restaurant area to the side of the hotel and a more relaxed setting that was located just under the first floor suites. So it was also convenient to have that particular area keeping a low noise level.

She crossed the room and curled up in one of the armchairs. There was a small group of elderly couples in the far corner playing bridge. Other than that, the room appeared empty, availing Ciara of the respite she needed after 7 hours of rushing around. She sipped her seaming coffee and relished in the replenishing effect it had over her.

A shadow passed by behind her and she was surprised to see Mycroft sweeping by in front of her, carrying a cup of tea, a volume of Oscar Wilde's dramas and his umbrella. He gestured to the armchair opposite her.

"I hope you don't mind if I sit? I was just perusing through a book when you came in and failed to notice me" he said, settling down across from her.

"Not at all. I'm sorry I didn't spot you. Guess I was just so preoccupied with having my coffee" she smiled sheepishly. "What are you doing here of all places on New Year's Eve? Don't tell me you are working?" she asked, settling back into her chair, her coffee resting in her lap. Mycroft sighed and brought his fingers to his temples.

"No, not in the sense that I'm meeting with anyone here. However, there are certain operations underway at present and so I must be awake to respond. The temptation to sleep is all too alluring if I were to go home" he explained tiredly. Ciara nodded. "But it is the holidays so a change from your office surroundings in well-earned, I imagine" she offered with a smile, sipping her drink. "Naturally" he smirked. They sat in a comfortable silence for a bit, not quite having anything else to say. It was not uncomfortable as it often happened that when Mycroft had business with clients or had finished his duties in the Flower Bed, he would often have a cup of tea (in the case that Ciara was scheduled to work, though she was unaware of the particular instances). He would offer her to sit with him and they would chat idly about current affairs, books or anything that came to mind. She would tell him about menial things that she was curious about (though those were her goldfish moments to him) and he would then be surprised on the insight she would provide him with as to the nature of certain criminal cases broadcasted in the tabloids. Of course, he was privy to finer details of each case, yet somehow it seemed she could deduce those deeper facts without much material to go by. And so, he would often find himself stopping by for tea after a meeting, inviting her to explore new hypothetical situations and motives, like an author looking for an alternative plot line. Of course, she was smart enough to realise he was looking for a psychological consult without dragging her back into that world. But she never drew attention to it, never asked anything more of the case or what the outcomes were. She would just give an educated guess as to what the motives were, what the responses typical of that personality would be and how she would imagine rehabilitation would be achieved (if it were suitable).

"Ah, I see you're reading Oscar Wilde's works?" she asked, bringing him out of his thoughts. He glanced at the hardcover in front of him and looked back at her curious eyes.

"Yes, I studied some of his works in school. Now, I'm just flipping through to pass time" he dismissed it, sliding the book across the table to her. She, however, pushed it back.

"I've read some of his stuff too. To be honest, a lot of it is the same and quite pretentious. Comical, but very self-loving" she criticised, grimacing slightly. Mycroft smiled mockingly. "I think he captures society quite accurately" he hummed. Ciara scoffed. "Yeah right. He talks incessantly in contradictions and tries to sound clever while looking down his nose at everything. Ah, I guess you like him because you can relate to him" she joked, poking her tongue out at him teasingly. Mycroft narrowed his eyes at her, the smirk melting away to be replace by a tight-lipped frown.

"How, pray tell, do you make that comparison?".

"Well, you contradict yourself quite a bit also, and you look down on everyone around you. I'm sure it's justified in some cases but it is not always necessary. You can be superior and humbled you know?". Mycroft raised an eyebrow at her.

"That, I'll concede to. I don't, however, see that I'm contradictory".

"You say that caring is a disadvantage. To be unemotional and detached is the way you are and that this allows you to be so great at deductions. But you do care about your brother. You worry about him because you love your little brother. And even if you say that you hate him that is still an emotional state. It is your advantage that you care so much about him and the rest of your family, as it has pushed you so far in your career. You are attached to him in a sense that is unique to your nature. He is to you also, though he also will never admit to it openly" she nodded to herself. She had seen Sherlock Holmes and John Watson in the media and even bumped into them a few times when they would race by on a case. One time when Mycroft was dealing with a business partner, Sherlock had barged in and the two brothers bickered quite comically for a time, much to Ciara's amusement. Nobody else in the room seemed to understand what they were bickering about, as it was all in reference to their childhood, but it was still fun to watch the shift of hidden emotions and energies that emerged on the Holmes brothers' features. There were a few occasions afterwards when Sherlock would drop by incognito, trying to learn why Mycroft picked that hotel of all places to bring his work to. He had detected a pattern in his brother's movements and could find no real evidence as the hotel seemed average enough. In the end, he deduced that the back rooms had a similar air to the Diogenes Club, though with less stringent norms and so was a compromise between his brother's taste and that of average people. Plus, they served very nice, generously sized pastries. "But to digress, as Wilde himself had written in one of his proses, I believe he compared a critic to an artist as the critic was himself creating a piece of art of his own. Like that, you do not exist like the average person does, but you transform elements of the normal to your own style. And so, you still care, still are emotional, just in a different way. You could potentially have been emotional in a way that would render you clinically unstable or intelligent to the point where living within the moral boundaries of society bored you enough to step beyond and commit unspeakable crimes without so much as lifting your finger. Instead, you occupy a minor part of the government, watch over your brother and his companion in the activities, and use your skills to protect national security" she finished resting her chin on her palm lazily. Once again, she had made him speechless and contemplative. He knew her words to be somewhat true. He had seen himself how intelligence could make one insane or criminally insane. And her logic was flawless in that he had his own way of caring. He simply did not like being so easily understood. But she wasn't dangerous. He had been around her long enough to know that. He was about to say something when noise in the distance caught their attention.

The faint sound of the New Year's countdown was heard echoing down the hallway. Fireworks were set off in the distance and a delicate flash reflected of the clouds outside, alerting the city of London that it was a new beginning. Ciara sat forward in her chair and raised her coffee mug to Mycroft.

"Cheers, and happy New Year, Mr. Holmes" she smiled. He smiled politely in kind and raised the lip of his teacup to clink gently against hers. "Many happy returns, Ms Murphy".


	7. Chapter 7

Ciara was walking home one evening after her shift. A co-worked who lived in the apartment building three blocks before hers offered to walk with her as it was late in the evening and she was walking rather clumsily into moving people, never mind what she would be like around traffic. They chatted animatedly and traded funny stories about experiences in the hotel business. It was not often that Ciara hung out with colleagues outside of work, but she saw potential for spending more free time with this one in particular as he lived so close by. She had to insist on him not walking all the way home, and recited the alphabet backwards to prove that she was alert enough to make it home in one piece. She chuckled as he gave her an enthusiastic wave goodbye and continued on her way. Whipping out her phone, she began to type a text as she walked.

"I'm fine, Mr Holmes. Don't think I didn't notice all the CCTV cameras in the area suddenly take an interest in my movements either" she sent to his private number. Seconds later, her phone vibrated in response.

"I assure you, I am unaware as to what it is you're referring. Should I be taking an interest in your whereabouts?" – MH.

"Not at all, though I can still sense you're lying to me. I presume you're done your homework on my colleague. What was his previous life like? Pimp? Drug cartel?" – CM

"I admit to nothing. However, whoever it is you are referring to, I'm sure he is clean" –MH

"Oh dear, he is now sending you a Facebook friend request" –MH

"Ah, so you do know who it is I was with!" –CM

"I should be careful if I were you. He's browsing all of your photos. Browser history also shows some unsavoury sites" –MH. "I'm old enough to enter into an adult relationship, though I appreciate your concern" –CM. By now, Ciara had reached her home on the first floor of the apartment complex and let herself inside. She planned to take a hot shower, make some tea and toast and snuggle up on the couch with Netflix until she fell asleep. At least, that was the plan.

She made it as far as her bedroom when suddenly a loud explosion went off a few apartments from where hers was. The entire street shook from the force. Windows shattered and walls crumbled within several hundred metres. Ciara lost her balance and had to roll to avoid falling with her floor into a massive crater. The air was hazy and dusty irritated her eyes. A slight ringing sound pierced her eardrums, making it difficult to maintain focus. The apartments above hers had also been split in half, and loose chunks of concrete had pelted her body on the way down, bruising and disorienting her. In the distance, people screaming and sirens approaching was heard.

An ambulance and squad car eventually arrived at the scene. Ciara slowly managed to get to her feet and stumbled into the stairwell. She made it down the first half of the stairway before sinking down weakly against the wall. Paramedics were cautiously climbing the stairs when they happened upon her. The first one made his way to her directly while the rest continued to investigate.

"Hello Miss. Can you tell me a bit about your injuries? Where are you hurt? Did anything fall on you?" he asked, beginning to check her over. Ciara hissed as he prodded the back of her head and twisted her wrist. She did her best to recount what happened and finished exiting the building with his help. Two bodies buried in rubble were not too far away from their exit. It turned her stomach to see her new neighbours (a man and woman, married she supposed) covered in blood and dust. She averted her gaze and swallowed back the lump of bile that was gathering at her throat. Outside, a crowd of spectators gathered and cheered to find at least one person walking out unharmed. A policewoman met her at the back of an ambulance and asked questions for her report while the paramedic bandaged her wrist. Apparently she had sprained it and possible sustained a concussion. They wrapped her in a blanket for shock and Ciara watched as several more people were evacuated from the unsteady building and given similar treatment. It felt like an eternity before the emergency services were offering people transport to any relatives or friends they could stay with. Ciara considered going to Flower Bed and seeing if her boss could help her out, or possibly walking the few blocks to her co-workers place. Before she could make a decision though, a familiar face appeared, hidden behind a phone.

"I'm to take you to some temporary lodgings, Ciara Murphy". It was Mycroft's assistant, Anthea.

"Wha- how? When? Where is he?" Ciara stumbled over words.

"You're clearly still in shock Miss" Anthea smiled, lowering her phone slightly. Ciara blushed lightly and stood up with a deep sigh.

"Clearly, otherwise I wouldn't question him or his methods. Lead the way" she gestured and followed the other woman back to the main road where a car was waiting for them. It drove for some time and Ciara closed her eyes tiredly, dozing slightly at the lulling movements. It wasn't until Anthea cleared her throat with purposeful volume and a light elbow nudge that Ciara woke. She had a headache and felt slightly nauseous but convinced herself to summon the strength to get out of the car. She was outside a massive country house. The sky was dark and thick with black clouds so it was hard to determine anything else about the area other than it smelt of grass, rain and trees. The windows were lit brightly and Ciara was ushered inside. She met Mycroft in his kitchen, sitting at a table reading a newspaper.

"Glad to see you're not dead" he greeted. "Hello to you too. How did you kn- no. Stupid question. Better one in mind. Did you know beforehand that my apartment was about to be totalled?!". "Not quite. We knew that you had foreign spies for neighbours and that they had a bounty on their head. We did not realise the extent to which their adversaries would go to terminate them" he said mournfully, standing. "You look terrible, by the way. Would you like to go take a shower? And would you like something to eat? I can ring for Chinese?" he offered, pulling a menu leaflet from a fridge magnet. Too tired to argue, Ciara conceded. She told him what she wanted and was shown upstairs to where she would be staying for the night and had a shower in the en suite. She found a pair of tracksuit bottoms and a loose t-shirt on the bed to change into when she had finished, as promised by Anthea before she had left for the night. Ciara rejoined Mycroft downstairs in the kitchen moments after their food had arrived and he was plating it up. As they ate, they discussed what Ciara's next moves were to be. She refused to stay with Mycroft for longer than necessary, though he assured her that the spare room had no near-future purpose if she wanted to remain. She planned to search for a new apartment first thing in the morning and to ask work for a few days leave in order to right herself and contact the insurance company to replace her valuables. Of course, Mycroft insisted on being of as much help as he could. She graciously accepted but swore that she would repay him for his generosity. "I dunno. I'll buy you another set of armour. It looks like your house can never say no to a suit of armour!" she teased as they walked into the living room to watch a movie of Mycroft's choice.

"You don't need to do th-"

"Or I could buy you a horse! Every knight needs a trusty steed!" "That's really inappropr-" "Or how about-" "You don't have to buy me anything!" he shouted from his place of setting up the film feature, silencing her immediately. Her mouth closed promptly and she pouted sullenly. He sighed at her behaviour and made his way to sit on the opposite side of the couch to her.

"I apologise for shouting but it's really not-"

"Fine. I'll take you out for dinner and an old school class movie. You seem to like that so no refusing" she cut him off, proud of herself as he threw his head back with a groan.

"You simply aren't letting this go are you?".

"Nope! I'm a damsel in distress and I plan on thanking you appropriately" she concluded, growing silent as the opening credits began to play. "I don't see how it fits the deed" he muttered to himself, but she heard him. She glanced across at him in thought.

"What I need most right now is someone to give me a place to stay and help getting back on my feet. What you need the most is a distraction and possibly a companion to reign you in when you become too much yourself to function happily" she said gently, turning her gaze back to the film. She could feel him looking heatedly at her and smirked.

"I'm not lonely" she spoke in sync with him, mocking his predictability. She tried to supress outright laughing at him, and continued "Maybe not, but you do still enjoy having someone to bounce ideas and complaints off of, so that's what I'll be there for. So for once in your life, allow yourself some positive rather than negative emotions!".


	8. Chapter 8

"You see but you do not observe". It was something Sherlock often said to those around him when he had figured out details of a case and the idiots around him and John had yet to figure it out. But now, he found himself on the other end of the pole, and it made him sour. He had wondered what it was his brother like about the Flower Bed. He assumed based on compelling evidence that it was the secluded areas and the patisseries. But he had been wrong. He hated being wrong. And even more of a shock was what the truth was. Mycroft had found his equivalent of Dr Watson. As Moriarty would have put it, he found himself a pet. He had spied them having dinner in an Italian restaurant not far from 221B. Not believing that his brother would go to dinner without an agenda, he thought he would linger and try his hand in lip-reading. He could not quite read everything perfectly, and there was quite the bit of laughter in between, which made the younger Holmes even more suspicious. Current case mentally solved, Sherlock texted on the details to John, rather than bursting in the door to dramatically announce the answer in his favourite theatrical style. No, he had something far more engaging to investigate. He followed them after they had eaten, and their trail lead him to….a cinema? So either they had noticed him and were trying to throw him off, or Mycroft wasn't keeping her company for business. Sherlock purchased a ticket for a random movie and continued to tail his brother into the theatre. He sat far enough away to go undetected and continued to observe his brother and the mystery, yet familiar, woman. As the lights dimmed his phone received a text and several people shushed him. Damn it! Mycroft had spotted him, sending daggers his way.

"Lestrade is breaking the news to the victim's family now. Where are you? –JW

"Caught scent of something else. Tell you more later" –SH "What are you doing here, brother mine?" –MH "What are you doing here, and who is your escort, brother mine?" –SH "I am on a date"-MH Sherlock was gobsmacked. His brother was on a date. Mycroft. Dating. A female. Human! The advertisements played by as he processed this information. Mycroft threw a casual glance back to take in his brother's horrified and confused look, eyes staring hard with this newly complex puzzle. Mycroft smirked triumphantly as Sherlock stood and began to exit the theatre.

"Have fun" –SH.

Mycroft smiled despite himself and Ciara noticed the change in him. She had seen the texts Mycroft had sent his brother. It wasn't hard to know when they were being spied on, particularly when that spy forgot to turn his phone on silent. She leaned against Mycroft's arm slightly.

"So, I got your brother's approval, I take it?" she whispered.

"It appears so" he answered, shoving his phone in his pocket and resting his arm on the arm rest. It was a way of keeping her at a distance, but also left the opportunity for hand-holding, which was as physical as either of them were going to be for now. It was a new game, a new experiment and it was going to be unlike any he had dealt with before.


	9. Chapter 9

Ciara woke the following morning and refreshed herself in the en suite. She made the effort to wash her face and attempted to clean her teeth with toothpaste and her dominant index finger. Not as effective as a toothbrush and mouthwash but it would have to do until she went shopping later on. She made her way downstairs and found the house to be quiet. Mycroft was either a ninja, or not yet awake. Through the mailbox jutted the daily edition of the newspaper. Ciara retrieved it and brought it to the kitchen table. She immediately flicked to the residential section and began to scan through for a suitable dwelling. Small, central and affordable was all she wanted. Luckily, there was a handful that fit her criteria and she rummaged around the drawers for a pen and sticky notes to take note of the addresses and real estate agent contact information.

Mycroft soon plodded into the kitchen and was briefly surprised to find her awake and active. It felt improper that as the host, he was not one step ahead of her in his hospitality.

"Good morning" he greeted, opening the fridge, only to find it was inadequately stocked for entertaining. After all, he wasn't exactly the most social or warming personality.

"Yes, it is! I've narrowed down a few options of apartments, so all going well I could be out of your hair before the week is out" she cheered, putting down her pen triumphantly. He raised an eyebrow over his shoulder at her, closed the fridge and stood behind her chair in order to examine her options. She waited impatiently for him to say something, as clearly he would voice his thoughts whether she wanted him to or not.

"Hmm. Are you sure? They aren't exactly the most…comfortable of places" he hummed, not quite approving of the localities nor the standard of living they were known for. Ciara waved her hand and shooed him towards the seat at her right.

"Of course. I don't need much other than it be within the city so I can make it to and from work every day. I'm not exactly the type to splurge on luxurious things. Bare necessities will satisfy me. I'll need to borrow a phone to set up an appointment if that's ok?" she asked. Mycroft pulled out his phone and began to text his assistant.

"You may use the house phone in the hallway. I'm afraid I can't offer you anything for breakfast so we could go into town for that? Perhaps we should go to your workplace and you can make the necessary arrangements for taking leave" he suggested, showing her to the hall table.

"Excellent idea! And have you work today?"

"I can put it on hol-"

"No! Don't worry about me for the day. I'll potter around and do my errands. If you write down your address for me, I can get a taxi back here when I've finished" she cut him off. He studied her and nodded slightly.

"I'll go to work after we've had breakfast, but I'll give you my phone number and Anthea's so that you can ring for a driver to come get you instead. You do plan on buying a new phone, or are you adamant on being primitive? Should I expect a messenger pigeon?" he retorted. Ciara laughed, despite the fact that he was mocking her in a condescending tone.

"Yes, I will be getting a new phone. Maybe Anthea can recommend one considering she spends so much time on hers" she mumbled the last part, earning a smirk from Mycroft. She picked up the house phone and began to arrange times to examine each of the four apartments she had selected. Following that, she rang her bank and her recent change of circumstances. They were sympathetic to her situation and she asked that they send her new debit card to her workplace. In the meantime, she needed to obtain a signed document of identity from the local police station before they would issue her a monetary draft from her account to get by. That was yet another thing on her list of errands, but it would enable her to do her shopping. She hardly expected him to toss her his bank card and let her run wild with it. Imagine what his face would be like reading his bank statements. She would be tempted to use it in a lingerie shop to really freak him out. That reminded her of her promise (the shopping with him, not the lingerie) that she had to buy him dinner and take him to a movie. She rang up her favourite Italian restaurant and booked a table for two that evening. She would walk by theatres in between her apartment scouting so she would note the movies that were showing then. When she had finally finished with the phone, she made her way back into the kitchen to find Mycroft waiting for her.

They had their breakfast in the Flower Bed's front restaurant as planned. Ciara stopped by the manager's office to explain recent events and she was given leave of a fortnight to get herself sorted. The manager offered to allow her longer but she knew she would need the money and a steady routine so as to remain focused and organised. Breakfast was delicious and was an open continental buffet. Mycroft asked about what Ciara planned to do for the day, exchanged contact details and had to leave early for an important meeting that had been pushed forward last minute. As he was leaving, Ciara grabbed his arm to make him pause briefly.

"You have dinner plans later, so don't be late. La Cucina at 6.30" she informed him. He took his arm back and fixed his jacket sleeve.

"I do not recall that being in my calendar. I suppose this is to be your expression of gratitude for my acts of decency?".

"Yes, if you want to put it like that. Though don't make it sound like just about anyone would have done it, because I could have just as easily been left to beg for someone to let me stay with them instead of being instantly welcomed under you roof. So, yes, I will be extending my gratitude to you this evening by wining and dining you, followed by some dismal entertainment" she poked her tongue out at him. He gave her a look that clearly said 'you're an odd one'.

"There are other ways of expressing gratitude. A simple 'thank you' would suffice".

"Well, I want to go that bit further. In fact, I would go so far as to say I'm repaying you with something you've probably never experience before" she winked, downing the last of her orange juice and standing from the table. They began to walk towards the exit together and he studied her movements. A slight acceleration in her gait, an increase in pitch of voice, dilated pupils. She was clearly elated about whatever logic she had contrived of. "I'll be taking you on what could be your first date. Correct me if I'm wrong?" she asked boldly, coming to a stop outside on the street and turning to face him.

"By the definition of what you deem it to be? Two people of the opposite sex sharing a meal and enjoying each other's company in a romantic sense? It would be, if there was a hint of romance between us" he said, trying to cover the absurdity of the situation. Him? Want to seek out the romantic company of another human? Preposterous.

"Well, I wouldn't say a date necessarily has to involve romance prior to its occurrence. Friends can have a dinner date without strings attached and I have yet to hear you talk about anyone you consider to be a friend. I more meant for it to be a date between two people who enjoy each other's company, aren't related by blood and are not currently doing business with each other. But we can see where the evening takes us" she smirked and turned on her heel. "Don't be late" she called over her shoulder, leaving Mycroft to yell his protests in vain at the back of her head as she headed in the direction of the police station.

Ciara met with one of the officers she recognised from the investigation at her old apartment. A quick interview and filling out of documentation later, she had the necessary paperwork to get money from her bank. She spent the afternoon doing that, buying a phone, clothes and toiletries before her home hunting escapade began. The first apartment she was to examine had been rather appealing in the advert. She would be close enough to the Flower Bed, located on a friendly side of town and co-habiting with several others. It's just too bad that several others translated to a large foreign national family that were openly prejudice and shouted questions about what her lifestyle was like and if she was married. She instantly crossed that off her list and all but ran down the stairs.

Walking to the second apartment, she passed by several theatres and checked the movies for that evening. Most were quite uninteresting and she knew Mycroft would abhor sitting through them. However, she found one theatre that advertised for vintage screenings of black and white flicks. That evening in particular, they would be playing Citizen Kane. Even if Mycroft turned out to hate sitting through movies, at least this one would be better than sitting through a western. It would be playing at 9pm sharp, which was ideal.

The second apartment she was to check out had great promise, but the real estate agent informed her that it was no longer on the market. Luckily the next apartment 9on her list was just around the corner. She was about to go up when her new phone began to ring. The caller I.D. was Mycroft's.

"Hello"

"I highly advise against that apartment. It has a history of problems with plumbing and electricity. Not to mention the landlord will find reasons to add additional costs to your rent".

"…..stop spying on me. You're abusing your power".

"I should think I was doing you a favour"

"Spying. Wait, no. Stalking!"

"Call it what you will. Just abandon that place"

"….."

"Please?"

"Fine. That just leaves me with one more apartment to check out".

"Don't get me started on that one".

"Why? What's wrong with it?"

"Aside from the reputation of the location?"

"What reputation?"

"Well, the residents are suspected of human trafficking, running a brothel-"

"Alright! Say no more. That is also a no go" she sighed. Biting her lip, she glared hard at the ground, willing herself to come up with a plan. It would be a pinch, but she could stretch her budget if need be. She was brought out of her thinking by the voice in the receiver.

"There is one place that is not listed on the market that I think you would consider".

"Where?" she asked, hope being revived in her. She turned around to walk back the way she had come when a familiar car pulled up beside her. The back door opened and Mycroft stood out, beckoning her to sit in.

"Come and I'll show you".

"No way" Ciara breathed. Mycroft's idea for her was to move in with his brother at 221B Baker Street. He explained to her that Dr Watson was now living with his wife and child, leaving Sherlock without a flatmate. While he was functioning just fine, Mycroft still felt he could do with someone around full time to keep an eye on anything out of the ordinary for the extraordinary detective. And who better than a former psychologist? He smiled at her reaction and got out to open her door for her. They knocked on the door, but it was an elderly lady that answered.

"Mycroft! What a surprise. Sherlock isn't in dearie, he's out with John, doing God knows what. Nice to see them off like the good old days though" she smiled warmly. "And who is this? Not one of his crowd I hope?" she directed her question at Ciara.

"Oh no, not at all thankfully. Actually, I'm here looking for accommodation. You see, my last apartment was destroyed in a terrorist attack, so Mycroft has been helping me get back on my feet" she explained, not mentioning just how exactly he had been helping her. Wouldn't want to tarnish his reputation. "He mentioned that Dr Watson no longer has his rooms here and thinks I'd be suited to living with his brother?" she asked. Mrs Hudson's eyes bulged and a grin broke out on her face as she gasped with delight.

"Oh did he?! Well that's great to hear! Sherlock could do with a good lady around to whip him into shape now that John has Mary" she nattered on and ushered them inside. Ciara suppressed her laughter and Mycroft rolled his eyes impatiently.

"Yes well, Ms Murphy is merely here to inspect the rooms and if she deems them worthy, she will likely move in over the next few days. Keeping an eye on Sherlock is not the priority here" Mycroft groaned.

"Jealous?" Ciara teased, sneaking passed him to ascend the stairs.

"Of what?"

"Mrs Hudson, what I think he means to say is that you are already fulfilling the role of the lady to whip Sherlock into shape. Maybe if or when I get to know him better, I'll become more influential to him, but in the meantime I'll just be helping to cover the rent" Ciara laughed as she was given a tour of the apartment. It was a charming place. If it had been registered in the adverts, it would have been her first choice. Not too big, nicely decorated, good location and affordable. The bonus was that she would be sharing with a local celebrity.

"Oh, thank you dearie. Cup of tea?" Mrs Hudson offered.

"No thanks. I think I already know that I'm very interested in the rooms. If they're available, I'll happily take them" Ciara asked, crossing her fingers and toes in anticipation.

"Yes! It'd be lovely to have you living here. Sherlock is grand once you get used to him and his habits. Mind you, he has a lot of them, but really he means well" she doted on the man in question. Ciara smiled fondly at her future landlady and turned to Mycroft.

"Guess I'll be moving in?".

"We can arrange for your things to be brought over tomorrow. Mrs Hudson, I assume you'll have a tenant's contract ready by then?" he asked as they made their way back downstairs.

"Of course Mycroft. And you're welcome to stop by anytime, dearie" she said, waving them off at the door. Back in the car, Ciara could hardly contain her joy. She sat up straighter than usual and bounced her knees alternatingly with her giddiness. She caught Mycroft assessing her and grinned.

"This is what happiness looks like, Mr Holmes. This day has been getting better and better. And I've yet to take you to dinner and that movie!" she cheered, nudging him with her elbow. He let out a quick breath and turned his attention to the scenery outside.

"Indeed, you have been more fortunate today than you were yesterday. I just wonder how my brother will take the news of your moving in and replacing Dr Watson" he mused to himself.

"I don't intend, nor do I think it possible, to replace Dr Watson. That's his friend you're talking about. I'm a stranger who is looking for a new home. He might be reluctant to accept the change, but he'll get used to it when he realises I'm not a threat…I hope" she trailed off. She had to remind herself that Sherlock was a Holmes. They were not as easy to read as lay people. Most people would eventually adapt to a change such as this. But lay people were also more emotionally intelligent than the Holmes brothers, who sacrificed their emotional intelligence for intelligence involved in honing their deductive capabilities. Without the focus on emotions, they were free of distractions to concentrate on the finer details. While useful, this meant that the unexpected ugly head of emotion could throw them off their game and present itself as a time-consuming obstacle. So Ciara could expect to have to fight to keep her place in 221B. But rather than dwelling on that, she now had a date to go get ready for.


	10. Chapter 10

Ciara sat patiently as time ticked by. The world outside was calm and the buzz of the early traffic rush had dissipated since she had arrived at 221B. Now, she was waiting for the younger Holmes brother to say something about her taking up residence in John's old room. He was deep in thought. When first she came in, he was confused. He immediately recognised her from the evening before, on a date with none other than his brother. He would have liked to think she was coming to him for help on escaping from his brother, or even more fun in the event that his brother had been abducted. Oh he would have welcomed her with much enthusiasm if she dropped that sort of treat in his lap. Instead, she came to inform him of an agreement she had reached with Mrs Hudson, who failed to inform him of such. Wasn't it a legal obligation for him to be given notice? What a nuisance. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about it all. He had intended on keeping John's rom unoccupied in the event that he would ever return and their old life would resume. But with Mary and Rosie, a new chapter had begun for his friend, and he would just be holding onto the memories, gathering dust so as not to tarnish their authenticity or times gone by.

And yet, there was an even more chapter waiting to begin sitting right in front of him. A female who had gone on a date with Mycroft Holmes. He had accompanied her into the apartment and made an attempt to introduce her, but Sherlock had been trying his best to get under their skin, making it clear that he didn't want either of them there. This woman had turned her back to Sherlock, asked Mycroft to leave and silently stared until he sighed and obeyed. That was odd. Mycroft did the ordering, not the submitting. And even on the rare occasion that he submitted, he did so with a fight and dignity. Now, he simply didn't seem bothered with being on the other end if the stick. Oh, his brother was whipped! How long had it taken this sorceress to gain control over such a powerful man. Mycroft was just about to exit when he halted and gave Sherlock a tense look.

"I expect you to behave yourself and give her your full attention, brother mine" he said, picking up his umbrella and striding out. Sherlock said nothing, turning on his heel and plopping down into his armchair, lost in his thoughts. Ms Murphy, meanwhile slowly made her way to sit on the settee. She then proceeded to explain the situation in a calm and collected tone, though she may as well have been screaming, for Sherlock cared little for the 'why's and more for the 'how's.

She didn't appear to be mentally unstable. She clearly didn't work with him from the nature of the past encounter and the way she was dressed. Long hair, not tied back, jeans and a short sleeved blouse. Very casual wear so she didn't invest much interest in maintaining appearances. Slim build, so relatively active and health conscious-

"Okay, I can see that you're doing your mental exercises and such, but I'm afraid I'll be cutting that short. I'll be moving some things in over the next day or two and hopefully will be officially settled in here by Friday. I promise to do my best not to interfere with you line of work, I just ask that you respect that when I am in my room, I do not want to be disturbed. I know you'll have your usual curiosity so I'm not going to forbid you from raiding it when I'm not occupying it" she said, getting up and heading out the door. She was just at the top of the staircase about to descend when he leapt off his chair and glided to stand in the doorway.

"How is it that my brother is interested in you?".

"That is for you, him and I to figure out" she retorted without missing a beat. She bid Mrs Hudson a goodbye to her way out and left Sherlock to seek out his violin and begin to try and phantom what could possibly arouse Mycroft's liking for another person, let alone one of the primarily nurturing hormone-driven sex. They came from relatively affectionate parents, so he wasn't compensating for anything. He had been functioning just fine hitherto on his own. What changed? Wait! This was all too convenient. With John gone, his brother was now planting someone to keep an eye on him, make sure he didn't do anything erratic like taking drugs or who knows what. But if she was a spy, then Mycroft would not have been so blatant about bringing her into his home, let alone allowing her to take charge of the situation. Sherlock greatly dislike this. He needed Watson there to help him with this puzzle. Although John had taught him a great deal, he still often misunderstood things that possessed the illogical motives driven by complex emotions. Balancing probabilities Mycroft cared for both of them, and this would be a convenient way of having them both looked after. Sherlock would just have to wait and see what was so special about this woman. Or…..

He pulled out his phone and sent a text to John saying that he had the most interesting and difficult case of the year and to hurry over. He knew he need not say anymore as John had been busy with his practice up until recently and asked to only be contacted about cases if his help was truly vital. And Sherlock believed this one would baffle the doctor as it did him the previous evening. 23minutes later, a cab pulled up outside and John rushed in, slightly out of breath from the climb and adrenaline.

"What's the case?"

"Mycroft and a woman"

"Okay. So government business? What does she represent?"

"No, John. I mean, Mycroft involved with a woman"

"….You mean he had dealings with her?"

"I mean, he went on a date with her. For fun. And now she's going to be living here in your old room"

"Wait, what?! Mycroft is seeing someone?"

"You're making me repeat myself" Sherlock sighed, exasperated. John let out a laugh of disbelief. Hell must have frozen over.

"She must be something. What do we know about her?" he asked, taking a seat in his armchair. Sherlock followed suit and sat across from him.

"Well, she works in a hotel. Middle aged, average height, relatively healthy. Sh-" his analysis was cut short by the sound of footsteps outside on the staircase. In walked the woman of the hour, carrying a few plastic bags with newly bought clothes. She stopped short on seeing that Sherlock was entertaining someone.

"Oh, I didn't realise you had company. Sorry, I'll just dump these in my room and be out of your way" she apologised. John stood up and smiled warmly.

"No trouble at all. I suppose you're taking my place at 221B? John Watson" he introduced, extending his hand to be shook. Ciara stopped and beamed, giving a firm handshake.

"Ciara Murphy, and I suppose you're hearing about my invading Sherlock's home courtesy of his brother's recommendations?" she chided. John laughed and shook his head.

"Actually, we're just trying to figure out how you and Mycroft…..ehrm, how do I put it-"

"How do we click?" she offered, smirking at how obviously baffled the dynamic duo were by Mycroft's regression to normal behaviour.

"Yes, that's what we're dying to know" Sherlock chimed in, reminding the two that he was still present. John gestured for Ciara to join them and they sat down together in the sitting area.

"Well, I can't quite pin point myself how it has come about. I guess just having sent a lot of time chatting with him and pulling strings at the hotel where I work to make his affairs go smoothly is really how I've gotten on his good side? Plus, the most recent development in our relationship started out more as a tease until he decided he wanted to experiment I guess?" she seemed to question the last part herself. John and Sherlock were scrutinising her closely. John could not get over how ordinary she was. Sherlock however, was that bit more perceptive as usual.

"You haven't always worked in the hotel business. What was you previous occupation?" he asked, leaning forward in his seat. Ciara nodded approvingly, gazing at the floor for a moment to gather her thoughts before she continued.

"Correct, I was formerly a forensic psychologist, but after diagnosing Jim Moriarty with antisocial personality disorder aka as a psychopath, I was forced into early retirement for my own safety. I travelled for a bit and eventually settled on working as a maid in the hotel industry. It was through this line of work that I met your brother properly, and he eventually went on to landing me my job at the Flower Bed. As to our relationship progression, studies shpw that humans seek out affiliation for a variety of reasons. It can be for reducing uncertainty about oneself, the need for emotional support in times of stress or to gain attention and boost their self-esteem. With Mycroft, I would hypothesise that he has always tried to act as a sort of role model for you throughout his life. When you deviated from his image in befriending Dr Watson, he began to re-evaluate things and is renegotiating whatever form of cognitive dissonance he is experiencing about his attitudes towards interpersonal relationships" she explained at length, waffling on in the hopes that her theory made some bit of sense to her audience. "Now, I do hope that clears things up a bit more. I can feel you're still not satisfied with my explanation, but it'll have to do for now. Figure the rest out yourselves detectives and we can hopefully become fast friends. Can I get either of you a cup of tea?" she offered, making her way to the kitchen. John and Sherlock glanced at each other while she was out of sight, rummaging through the cupboards.

"Looks like you may just have yourself a house keeper" John joked, referring to her line of work. Sherlock smirked and his nostrils flared slightly as he laughed under his breath.

"And a shrink to boot" he replied softly, watching his new flat mate prepare their beverages with a newfound respect.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author note: Thank you all for the fabulous reviews! :) you're very kind and I'm delighted you've enjoyed the chapters so far. I'll be back in college on Monday so chapter updates will be sparse (apologies in advance!).**

Ciara agreed reluctantly to babysit Rosie. It wasn't so much that she disliked the child, in fact she was quite enamoured by John and Mary's offspring. It was the fact that she would have to spend the night at Mycroft's so as to clear the area for the trio to go about their adventures without disturbing the infant's night routine. Unfortunately, that meant temporarily altering Ciara and Mycroft's. Ever since she had moved in to 221B, she had yet to spend a night back at his. They had fallen back into step of his visiting the Flower Bed on business and lingering to share a short cuppa with her as before, but they now would schedule regular outings for dinner or a walk around the city on the rare occasion that their schedules did not clash. They would continue to converse, consult and court in such a manner as befitted their idiosyncratic relationship. And while babysitting was nothing out of the ordinary for any emotionally stable woman to do, it was something out of the ordinary to do so in the presence, nigh the home, of Mycroft Holmes.

John and Mary arrived at Baker Street at about 4.30pm after closing up the office a few hours earlier. The brought an overnight bag and travel cot for Rosie and graciously dumped them at her feet before passing on their precious child to her care for the night. Mary gave a quick, precise overview of Rosie's routine so that Ciara would have some idea of what the child would expect to be given food and put to bed. Meanwhile, John peered at the laptop screen from over Sherlock's shoulder, eyes eagerly drinking up the surface details of the possible cases they would be tackling. Mary smiled fondly to herself as she and Ciara stood watching the two men get excited and feed off each other's energy. The moment was cut short when Mycroft's unmistakeable footfalls echoed up the stairwell. Sherlock's features stiffened visibly, extricating an eye-roll from the others present. The man himself sauntered in and gave a slight nod of greeting to them. His eyes landed on Ciara, bouncing Rosie on her hip. Something flickered in his eyes. Some might like to think he was pleased by the site of her acting in a maternal way. Others might think that he was confused by the scene because it was so out of the ordinary. The latter would be correct. Balance of probabilities, Ciara was a woman with maternal instincts buried deep down in her genome. That and a course of developmental psychology, it seemed highly likely that she would be adept at handling a child. The woman in question, however, read his discomfort instantly as him being unused to babies. Oh, this night was going to be interesting, no matter which case you were on. Ciara stooped slightly to grab the strap off the overnight bag with her free arm and Mycroft was forced to carry the travel cot with sleep speakers. They wished the others a fruitful evening before heading outside to where Mycroft's car was waiting and returned to his house.

Back at the house, Ciara set about making up a soft area on the floor for Rosie to roll about and play with her toys. Mycroft couldn't exactly get the entire day off work, so he was confined to working on his laptop and making the odd phone call. Ciara had just finished sorting through the overnight bag and making mental notes of all that she had to deal with the 1year old when Mycroft called he back into the living room. He was sat at the table, a grimace evident on his face.

"I think she's…..soiled herself" he sniffed, then made a rather comical face. Rosie cooed and gurgled in response from her place on the floor. Ciara sighed.

"I suppose I'm going to be responsible for all the baby care?".

"Well, you are the babysitter". Ciara threw him a look, not happy at the thoughts of having two children to be putting up with. She said nothing and fetched the items she needed to change Rosie's nappy there on the blankets, just to spite Mycroft even further. When she had finished, she was about to take the soiled nappy to the rubbish bin when Rosie started to cry. Mycroft ceased his typing and stiffly turned in his chair. Smirking to herself, Ciara picked up Rosie and started to swing her about with swooshing noises, putting and end to her tears in exchange for giggles. Ciara then nudged the forgotten nappy to Mycroft's feet. He recoiled in disgust.

"I've my arms full here. Mind disposing of it?" she asked innocently. He stared coldly at her.

"You are quite capable of taking her with you to the bin, or laying her on the floor again" he reasoned. Ciara tutted at him.

"If I put her down, she'll start crying again. And I don't know where your bin is. Either you dispose of it, or hold her and tell me where I can find the bin" she said, walking over to stand over him. Rosie curled into her shoulder, clearly not used to Mycroft as far as Ciara could tell. She wondered if Mycroft was deducing that much or-

"This is ridiculous. Just put the child down and be done with it. I've work to do. The bin is under the sink in the kitchen, though if that thing is going to stink up the place, there is another outside to the wall on the left" he said, turning back to his laptop. Ciara raised an eyebrow and pressed her lips into a fine line.

"Alright then. 2 minutes" she announced, placing Rosie in his lap, sniggering as he went rigid and sunk as far back into his seat as possible. Ciara released her grip on the child and picked up the nappy, heading out to dispose of it as directed. While she was out of the room, Mycroft was staring down at Rosie horrified. He was holding her up by a wrist in one hand and the palm of his other hand splayed across her shoulder blades. It was quite the awkward position to be in for either of them, and the end result was his incredulous expression and Rosie's tormented screams. Ciara returned swiftly and snatched Rosie back up, soothing her with soft tones and silly faces. When the crying had stopped, Ciara glanced down at Mycroft with an evil glint.

"We are breaking you in on baby management 101 Mr Holmes".

The afternoon passed by with Ciara playing on the floor with Rosie and Mycroft attending his affairs in between Ciara's attempts to coax him to 'get out of his comfort zone' and avoiding another unpleasant encounter with the infant. He left the room for a rather important phone call, and it seemed to be taking up a great deal of time. Ciara noticed that he left his laptop, switched on and logged in. She and Rosie had both grown bored of peek-a-boo and rattles so it was time for something different.

Ciara sat Rosie on her knees and went onto Youtube search engine to look up Tellie-Tubbie videos.

"You're going to love this baby" she cooed, bouncing her knees up and down as the video began to play. Rosie gurgled enthusiastically and seemed to enjoy watching the show. Mycroft walked in after the fourth video had begun and looked up from his phone, a poker face assuming its place.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Watching Poe and Tinky Winky with Naughty Noo Noo, duh" Ciara smiled, struggling to stifle her laughter. Those words had no effect on Mycroft. She was pretty much speaking another language now, he was sure.

"…..That laptop holds the most highly classified and confidential files belonging to the British government on it!" he seethed.

"And it is keeping everyone in this house safe from boredom and free of terror. Mozeltoff" she said in a flat voice for added effect, and turned back to the screen lest he see the wide grin that was breaking through. Quick as a flash, his arm shot out over her shoulder and slammed the laptop shut.

"No" he said in a final tone. Rosie hiccupped and moaned unhappily. Ciara leant back and looked up from under her eyelashes.

"You see what you've started?".

Mycroft was relieved when his work had finished for the day. It meant that now he only had to make it through the next hour and Ciara would be putting Rosie to bed for the night. He was going to need a very strong drink after dinner. Which is where he currently found himself. He was silently eating his plate of pasta while Ciara was cooling the pureed meal for the baby. She had managed to give her two spoonful's before asking Mycroft to keep an eye while she went to the bathroom. She was going to insist that he attempt feeding her as a way of bonding, but having failed to win that argument while preparing their dinner, she wasn't about to waste her breath again.

Rosie was staring around the room with wonder that was often seen in neonates. Without her primary caregivers around though, she was fast becoming distressed by the unfamiliar environment. Mycroft put down his fork and rested his elbows on the table in thought. He was scanning his brain for all that he knew about children's capabilities and neural development at this stage. Plenty of neuroplasticity for growth and development. Very poor motor skills. Surprisingly, able to understand many words though they were incapable of producing the speech itself. He was going to try something. He wasn't sure how much of a success this would be. He picked up the abandoned spoon and brought it level to Rosie's mouth. She stared in confusion at it and then up at him, her fingers covering her mouth.

"It's your food. Say 'ah'" he crooned, bringing it closer. Begrudgingly, Rosie lowered her hand and accepted the food. Mycroft felt a slight wave of victory bubble up inside. This baby sitting wasn't so hard. Before Ciara came back, he wanted to get at least one more spoon of food into her, so he scooped up another mouthful and followed the same procedure. Taking his by surprise, Rosie slapped the spoon out of the way, sending the food to the floor. Mycroft looked at her with annoyance.

"Was that entirely necessary? You just ate it. There was nothing wrong with it, for the love of-"he ranted and fetched a towel to mop it up. When he turned back, Ciara was standing in the doorframe, chuckling silently to herself.

"At least you tried, but maybe let me handle this? Otherwise, we may as well dump her plate on the floor here and now" she laughed, proceeding to finish the feeding process and eating her own meal. Mycroft watched as she spent the next 20 minutes balancing her own plate of food with making soft imitations of trains, planes and cars to entice the baby to eat her food. And it was effective. Children were worse than goldfish. This was exhaustingly slow to be around. How did people surround themselves with these tiny creatures day in and day out?

Rosie was in her cot asleep, the walkie-talkie was set up so that Ciara could keep an ear out for any night terrors. She and Mycroft were curled up on the couch next to each other, watching crime documentaries about unsolved murders and he was drinking some very strong whiskey. She could smell it from her place next to him, and found it oddly comforting. Which was somewhat strange, given she was not a drinker herself as the taste repulsed her entirely.

"Why do people find babies so desirable and attractive? They are so vulnerable and dependent. Not to mention they all look the exact same" he questioned, taking a swig. Ciara nudged her knee against his.

"You do know you were once her size? We all start that way Mycroft and it's because of wonderful adults and parents that we mature and develop. I do question though where they went wrong with your odd brain though" she poked his side playfully. He rubbed his eyes tiredly and look at her seriously.

"They are worse than goldfish" he whined. Of course, Ciara had heard himself and Mycroft using this term once before. It had been during one of their brotherly face-offs back at their apartment on Baker Street. Sherlock had referred to her as Mycroft's pet goldfish. After getting the explanation she had demanded from them, she protested heatedly that she was at least a very pretty koi fish and would prefer not to be help as another fish in the sea like all others. Mycroft had secretly been pleased by her alternative. She was unique in his eyes, so it was fitting.

"Yes, they are little squirmy things that other mommy goldfish like to nurture, seeing as they carry them for 9 long, painful months. So they look after the little trophies of their union with another goldfish well. As for daddy goldfish, they sort of get to share the trophy, but they didn't carry it around so really they just help polish it up every now and again. Unless they really want and like the trophy, in which case they will give it plenty of care" she said, pondering her metaphor all the while for accuracy. It was an unusual one, and she didn't like having to explain this kind of thing as she didn't quite understand the appeal herself. If it came down to wanting to nurture something, she would rather get a pet dog than go through the excruciating experience of pregnancy and responsibility for shaping another human life. She voiced this perspective to Mycroft, which he accepted rather easily. She couldn't imagine him wanting kids, but had to ask anyways.

"Where do you stand on it? Do you ever imagine yourself with kids in the future?". He seemed to think about it for a fraction of a second but then shook his head with mirth.

"A man of my position and occupation never plans to have children" he said. Ciara's eyes bugged. 'Plan'? That still left a possibility. She was sure that he had just said those words without too much thought on loopholes, but would he be so careless with his words? She would let it go, but not forget this in case it ever came up again. Perhaps it was all the baby action had drained him. They fell into silence and watched the final half of the homicide programme. Ciara found herself sinking deeper into the couch and was on the verge of dozing off. Her body seemed to gravitate and she was startled to find herself come in contact with Mycroft's bicep. She shot back up in surprise.

"Oh, sorry!" she said sheepishly.

"No, it's okay. You…You can rest there if you want to" he said quietly, looking her in the eye to show he was being serious. Not knowing what else to say, Ciara smiled softly and manoeuvred so she was gently leaning against his side, head resting against the tip of his shoulder blade. He didn't move to make any more contact than necessary, but he didn't seem tense about it either, which was a good sign. The show soon concluded with a serial psychopathic murderer being killed in a shoot-out. The ads started to play when Mycroft asked her:

"How did you rule me out from being a psychopath?". Ciara pulled back in disbelief, her expression contorted with confusion.

"What's there to rule out? You know you're not" she said slowly.

"Yes, but they are known for being charming and manipulative. Good at convincing people they are what they are not" he pointed out.

"Well, how do you know that I'm not a psychopath?" she refuted.

"Well, you are charming but you don't take pleasure in the pain of others. You stopped a man from taking his own life. You can empathise and are not egocentric. Also, you worked as a psychologist so if you were one, someone would have noticed" he deduced. Ciara nodded but pushed further.

"Or, it was because of my profession that I educated myself as to what people look for in identifying a psychopath and I trained myself to mask my true identity. Like you said, a psychopath is incredibly charming and a master of deception. You could be under my spell and not even realise my masterplan" she whispered darkly. He couldn't help but smirk at that.

"Yes, except that you wouldn't hurt a fly. You laugh too easily and freely to have any sinister intentions. You have the faintest dimples that show up when you are joking around so you can't fool me" he mocked, finishing the remnants of his drink. Ciara was stunned at his explanation.

"And that is how I can prove you are not a psychopath. Psychopaths view moral transgression as equally bad as conventional ones. You, however, would more than likely be repulsed if I went about lying, cheating, stealing and killing. You're going to be annoyed by my saying so again for the umpteenth time, but you care without realising which means you cannot be a psychopath" she concluded, staring off into space in thought. Mycroft was watching her from the corner of his eye and considering what she had said. She was correct, he didn't take to what she had said about his caring. But he was hearing it so much from her that he was beginning to consider there could be truth behind it. The baby monitor crackled, making them both jump slightly. Ciara exhaled a shaky breath and left to soothe Rosie from the nightmare she had woken from. Mycroft bid her a goodnight and went to bed, leaving her rocking the infant in the guest room that they would be sharing for the night. When she had finally settled, Ciara also retired for a well-deserved slumber.


	12. Chapter 12

221B would never quite be the same. The atmosphere had changed immensely, in ways Sherlock would never have thought possible in his life. He was responsible and yet he wasn't. He and Ciara grabbed their coats and left the apartment in solemn silence together. They hailed a cab and began to live through the most dreaded and sickening occasion they would ever experience: Mary Watson's funeral.

The time spent in the car was filled with deafening silence and loud thoughts. One could only imagine the pain and racing deductions (past, present and future) that Sherlock was making. Ciara was numbed by rehearsing what had lead them to this point. After all, grief was simply the mind struggling to process an unexpected and/or unwanted change. And Mary's death most definitely ticked both boxes. That only left her to do what she believed was the most helpful thing for her to confront her grief, which was to keep reminding herself what happened, how it happened and that it had in fact happened. There was no changing the facts, only acceptance and dealing with the aftermath.

Mycroft threw his phone furiously on the couch and leant back, flaring his nostrils in frustration with his younger brother. Ciara closed her book and propped it on the coffee table in front of her.

"Still not taking the other case you want solved so badly?" she guessed. Mycroft nodded and shifted his position to a more composed pose.

"He insists on pursuing a more…personal matter" he conceded. Ciara rolled her eyes and reached for her cup of tea.

"I do happen to live in the same apartment as him, Mycroft. I know that he's investigating someone from Mary's former life that poses a threat to her. Are you really that surprised that he chooses that over some search for a rock?" she snorted, sipping her beverage. Mycroft gave her a withering look.

"No, I know why he pursues it. I just wish he wouldn't. I get the feeling that it will place him in more danger than I'm comfortable with, given the nature of the past these individuals shared. After all, Mary did in fact shoot my brother and almost killed him-".

"Almost, being an important word there" she cut in with a cheeky grin.

"Yes, important because if she had chosen to, my brother would be six feet under in a wooden box" his tone became very dark as he continued his contemplations. Ciara knew there was no denying what he had said. Mycroft would not accept false words for comfort any more than she would accept that Pluto was no longer a planet. There were somethings in life that just had no take-backsies. So, Ciara moved from her armchair to sit closer to Mycroft and rested her arm in the space that separated them, using body language to signal that she was both proximal and respectful of personal space.

"If you're smart enough to deduce that, then you'll also know that he's the best person to trust to look after the Watsons and himself. Just look at his case file" she smiled.

"I should never have shown you that" he muttered to himself.

"But you knew it was the smart thing to do. Now, I think that you could do with a distraction. Wanna find a rock?" she beamed, but was only answered with an exasperated sigh.

The funeral was worse than they could have imagined. Many close friends showed up. The weather was impossibly lovely, unrepresentative of the gloom they felt in their hearts. Ciara stood with Mycroft at the back of the crowd in the graveyard. It was apparent that John was dealing with this loss like a wounded animal: seething on the inside and barely holding up a brave front on the outside. Mycroft had surmised earlier that he would require bereavement counselling sooner or later.

When the final rites were said, the crowd hung their heads in mourning, praying for Mary's soul and that her family would survive this devastating loss. Mycroft shuffled uncomfortably and glanced at his watch, only to be elbowed rather rudely in the ribs by Ciara. Glancing up at him sideways, she nodded for him to bow his head like everyone else.

"I don't see why-" he began to whisper but was cut off.

"Because you don't open your eyes to empathy. That's what I'm here for. Do as I do and we'll pull of the minimum formalities" she hissed. She had quite liked Mary, and having a Holmes there for support wasn't exactly the most helpful thing in the world. It was like having fly repellent as a comforter: it repelled any annoying flies that dared approach and anyone unfortunate to pass by would be upset by the unpleasant output.

The crowd soon began to gather in cliques and disperse slightly. Mycroft waited off to the side while Ciara laid the flowers they had selected by the grave site. John was standing a few feet to her right and she sighed. He looked like he's aged a lifetime. She caught his eye and pressed her lips together in apology for his loss. He quickly cast his gaze downwards and turned as though to gather himself. Ciara tiptoed behind him and squeezed his shoulder, feeling the silent shakes of his sobbing.

"John, there are no words for how much we all regret her loss, so I won't say any more about it. Just know that if you need anything at all from me, do not hesitate to call" she said, tracing small circles across the back of his shoulders. He hummed and gave her a strained sideway glance. He wanted to thank her as he had done for everyone else, it was the thing you did at these sort of occasions. But he was tired and all out of fight. She nodded in understanding, gave his arm a final squeeze, and looked once more at the fresh heap of soil as a farewell to a respectable friend. She returned to Mycroft's side and they fell into step with one another to leave for home. It promised to be a long, wearisome evening.

Bang. Mycroft watched as though in slow motion as the bullet raced towards his younger brother. _Oh Sherlock, what have you done?!_ He thought to himself, adrenaline rushing to his brain, making him freeze all other movement. Time began to speed up again, and as the bullet swam closer and closer to Sherlock's chest, so too did the torso of Mary Watson. She took the bullet for Sherlock, which was ironic considering she had once been the one to shoot him. Time resumed its usual flow, but it was highly erratic and chaotic. Mary hit the ground, Sherlock immediately crouched over her, the look of shock and remorse distorting his facial features. Panicking, he wanted to keep her from experiencing shock and assured her everything would be fine. Everything would not be fine though, as though she had any choice in the matter. Ciara whipped out her phone and dialled emergency services once again, screaming for them to get medical help to the aquarium ASAP for a GSW.

The moment they dreaded most came all too soon, however. John Watson had come running in, panting lightly from the exertion, but the wind was completely knocked out of him when he gazed upon his best friend caressing his dying wife on the floor. Without thinking, his feet carried him to her side and dropped him at his destination. Mycroft watched the scene with a numb, morbid curiosity. You can't stop the East Wind from striking. All you can do is watch the devastation it causes and deal with the aftermath. He watched Ciara on the phone, begging for them to get there as quick as possible, the urgency painfully evident in her voice. He observed the precious final intimate moments between his brother and the Watsons, their pure and heart-breaking expressions of sentimentality with which they help one another in. One minute, the dying woman was professing her love and gratitude to her husband, and as swiftly as the extinguishing of a candle flame, she was dead. It's odd how when one has sighed their final breath, the witnesses have to continue the rhythm of their own breathing before they can fully realise that this person has ceased to heave air from their person. Once that realisation hits, the emotional floodgates are cast open and all the surrounding walls begin to cave in on their mental factions. John bawled and roared ferociously with anguish. Seeing that it was too late, Ciara hung up her call and stifled the whimpers that were tickling her throat. She had never watched someone die like that before, especially not a friend. It was horrific. And what she was to see next made her worry even more for the widower. John would be an angry griever, choosing to isolate himself from his friends when he needed their support most. The first person to bear the brunt of his grief was Sherlock Holmes.

"Don't you dare!...You made a vow!...You swore to m-…." He heaved in a broken whisper. Glances darted to see how Sherlock would handle his friend's reaction, but the consulting detective was at a loss. It was probably for the best that his lack of social skills left him speechless in those moments for words were the last thing John Watson would listen to. Unable to watch anymore, Ciara turned and leant against the glass panels of the aquatic display. It only served as a visual distraction, but nothing could help her to drown out the wounded sounds of a grieving husband.

The police and medical unit streamed in after what felt like eons. Mary was declared dead at the scene and a body bag was brought in. This elicited a new wave of pain from John, and Anderson had to do his best to gently coax John away from the death chamber. Mycroft approached his brother and said it would be best if he accepted a lift home from him, and let Anderson see to John this once. Sherlock was too lost to argue back. Without a snarky comeback, Mycroft knew his brother was badly affected by the ordeal and made note to keep a keen eye on him in the months to come.

He then turned his attention to Ciara in the corner, who appeared to be composed once more. She slowly came to stand beside them and asked if they could leave. He could see she dreaded having to answer police statements on the events there and then while it was all so fresh (he himself was in no humour for their pestering). So he went all government on their asses and said that they would make an appointment in the morning to give statements at Scotland Yard.

He was still processing everything on the car ride home, thinking back on what he had seen take place in the final moments between Mary and John. So vulnerable and so tragic. It was one of the reasons why he thought relationships were a weakness. They revealed blindspots and made them more painful to bear when brushed against. This brought him to think of his own situation with Ciara. _Perhaps it's for the best if we make it a temporary thing. With all of my enemies and arch nemeses, to drag it out only means that one of us will end up on the undertaker's countertop sooner rather than later._ And so he determined that he would soon end the romantic affair he and Ciara were engaged in, though not that night per se. They had had enough excitement for one evening.


	13. Chapter 13

Another day, another shift done at work. Ciara fished her bag from her staff lockers and pulled on her thick black coat to protect her from the heavy rain outside. The weather had been desolate recently, causing flooding out the countryside and devastating rural residents. The city was no better, though the Thames had yet to burst its banks. She waved goodbye to the night manager at the desk, Barry. He looked at her incredulously as she walked by.

"Tell me you have a lift home this evening and aren't walking home dressed like that?" he stopped her.

"Afraid not. A good stroll home will do me good anyhow. I need the air after being cooped up in here all day" she smiled wearily.

"Here, I'll call you a taxi" he said, picking up the phone and beginning to punch in the number often used to call a cab for hotel guests.

"Put the phone down, or you'll be wasting their time" she waved and continued towards the exit.

"At least take a brollie! I don't think the owner is reclaiming it anytime soon" he called, holding up a pink polka dotted umbrella. But Ciara waved her hand dismissively, frowning softly as she descended the steps outside in the downpour. She had never cared much for umbrellas before, and even less so now.

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Ciara sauntered up the main street, happy to be free to move instead off cooped up behind the check-in desk. The walk home would only take 20mins so she intended to get soaked from head to toe and have a nice hot shower when she was home. She wasn't sure if Sherlock and John would be working on a case or not that evening. Really, this was the difference between getting to listen to Sherlock playing the violin as she lazed on the couch with her book or listened to the pitter-patter if rain against the window.

She was almost home, passing by the one of the nearby pubs, when she noticed a familiar figure sitting rather awkwardly inside the window with a blonde haired woman. Ciara took a sharp intake of air and walked by as if she hadn't noticed.

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Why here? Why did Lady Alicia Smallwood decide on this pub of all places to go for a drink? Mycroft did not find the bustle of the place to his taste and even less so that it was a dreary evening which he learned a football match between Liverpool and Manchester City was taking place. To say the testosterone and alcohol levels were seeping into the atmosphere was an understatement. Mycroft did his best to keep distracted, focusing on the conversation and the scotch in front of him.

It was a thing of whim, he convinced himself. He had simply stored her private number aside for in the unlikely event that he needed her to approve a request of some sort. At the time, the only companion he had really thought about going out with was Ciara, and he had laid that to rest for both their benefits straight away after that dreadful night. He never dreamed he would actually ring Lady Smallwood up to make good on the invite for a drink, nor that he would do so this soon. He had grown soft, developing a sort of fondness for company in the hours after work when he would dine and unwind.

He found himself admiring Lady Smallwood as she asked him some personal questions, though he was sure to manipulate things away when they became too personal. He knew enough about her personal life and history to be satisfied with that, and so he preferred to quiz her on opinions of the latest MPs and international affairs. A roar of cheers went up from the crowd of locals that were glued to the footie on screen. In that moment, Alicia took the time to see what the fuss was over as Mycroft looked disinterestedly out the window. The retreating figure with sopping hair did not escape his notice, most likely en route to 221B Baker Street. The cheering dies down though the buzz remained, and Mycroft forced himself to turn his eyes back to the pub atmosphere. He knocked back the remainder of his drink and suggested that it was time for them to move along. He made his excuses of an early meeting and offered to do _this_ again sometime. Though, if he had anything to say about it, it would be in more comfortable surroundings far away from unexpected passers-by.

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Ciara dumped her things by the couch and went straight to her room to grab a pair of fluffy pyjamas. It had been 3 days since Mycroft had told her that he wanted to forgo any further relations such as they had been engaged in. Yeah, this is how the elder Holmes brother executed a break-up. She had thought he would give a reason, like he no longer had feelings, that he never had feelings, he had a secret family, or anything at all, however absurd. But no. He simply said he was ending it and that was it. He paid for their drinks, they had a bit of light-hearted talk to keep things relatively amiable, seeing as she did not wish to move from 221B and they would inevitably cross paths every so often.

She had her shower and felt exhausted quite suddenly. Whether it was from work or the wave of emotions that were threatening to bubble to surface, she decided to skip reading her book and go straight to bed. She crawled up under the duvet and laid on her side, her mind wondering miles away.

It wasn't long afterwards that Sherlock came home, dejected after another failed attempt to talk to John. He had expected to find Ciara home from work by now and unwinding with a mug of tea as per her routine when she worked the early morning shifts. Not finding her in the accustomed seating, he decided to investigate further, as he was feeling rather restless.

He checked the bathroom door that was open ajar, suspecting that she had walked home in the rain and would want to warm up afterwards. Residual water droplets hung from the walls and the light was turned off, confirming she had been home and taken a shower. Either she had gone out again (unlikely), or she was in 221 somewhere. He knocked gently on her door before entering. He found a mass turning over under the bedcovers and her head peeped out from its recesses.

"What are you doing?" he asked confusedly. It was early still, the daylight was still there, despite the black clouds which concealed the heavens. Sighing, Ciara sat up and swivelled her feet onto the floor.

"I just saw your brother with Alicia Smallwood in a local pub. I'll be fine. Have you a new case?" she asked, moving aside her raw affective state. Sherlock looked at her grimly for a moment. After his brother had ended their relationship, he had went to see him in his home to find out why. He needed to know what happened in order to try and comfort or tolerate his new flatmate, lest he should make his living situation any worse. But Mycroft had given neither of them a reason. Sherlock had studied his brother intently on his visit and concluded that seeing his friend turn on him may have scared Mycroft that whatever may happen he was afraid of 1) her death by his enemies, 2) her death by him (odds of which were extremely low) or 3) that he would do something so devastating that she would walk out of his life as John was currently trying to do to him. It was a twisted and ironic form of logic that only Mycroft would devise. And quite melodramatic. Typical of his brother really. He remembered that when he had voiced this deduction, Mycroft's nostrils had flared and he merely glowered until Sherlock left, refusing to dignify his younger brother with any further responses. The repeated calling of his name brought him out of his reverie.

"Sherlock, is there something you need?" Ciara waved her hand in front of his eyes. He blinked and came to focus on her. She had stood up and was now standing before him, trying to solve the puzzle of what exactly he had come to her room for. Awkwardly, he raised his arms and gently curled them around her shoulders, resting his head on top of hers for a moment before pulling back to examine her stunned gaze.

"I think you needed a hug for the moment. Would you care for some tea? I could really use a therapist right now" he mumbled. Not having any idea as to how she was to respond to what just happened, she nodded and allowed his to lead the way back to the sitting area. She took her regular seat and he soon joined her with two steaming mugs of Earl Grey and a saucer with digestive biscuits at the ready.

"So what's wrong with you?" she asked, accepting her tea and taking a careful sip while he settled next to her. "John is still refusing to speak to you?".

"Yes, but I know it's not what Mary would have wanted. I need him to see that. But the question is, how do you make him see something he does not want to when he won't talk to you or anyone associated with you?" he sighed. Ciara nodded, remembering the video that Sherlock had showed her after Mary's death. A final mission she had left the best man of her wedding was to once again save the day. Save John Watson from himself. Mary had been clever. She would have known what to do. She began to ponder the words that were said and everything she knew about the kind of grief John was dealing with.

"I suppose you being his closest friend in the world, the only way for you to get back in his good books would be to pretty much jump of a cliff or something. An eye for an eye so to speak. But you've seen how your pretending to kill yourself has affected him before. I doubt it'd work this time around" she mused softly. At this, Sherlock leapt to his feet, tossing his mug of tea aside without a care, letting it clang but not break against the carpet and pool around his feet.

"Of course! That's it! Oh, yeeeessss" he hummed darkly, putting Ciara on edge as she carefully put her drink down.

"Sherlock, I'm telling you right now that if you are contemplating suicide, I'm calling the emergency services to lock you up for your own safety" she warned.

"Ah but don't you see, it's exactly my safety that needs to be on the line. And it needs to be believable, so suicide would be preposterous" he chuckled. He danced around the room and pulled Ciara into a waltz, though she tripped over herself unceremoniously and he allowed her to twirl back into her seat.

"I know how I'm going to save John. I just need to go to hell and back like Mary said" he informed her. He picked up his jacket and prepared to go out, leaving Ciara as confused as ever, though she knew that she would have to trust the mad genius to solve the issue at hand his way. She would hold off on calling for the men in white coats and in the meantime decided she had best clean up his mess and keep 221B in relatively one piece. It did not cross her mind that Sherlock's elaborate plan would begin that very night with the beginnings of a relapse to street drugs.


	14. Chapter 14

Much as Ciara tried, she could not convince Sherlock to reveal his plan to win back John Watson's confidence. So it caused much worry to herself and Ms Hudson when he began to disappear on regular drug benders only to reappear in a very uplifted state muttering nonsense. One evening, he barged in the door and quizzed her about some therapist in the outer suburbs that was quite unknown to her. She hadn't been in practice for some years so it was only reasonable that she was quite unaware of every clinician in the region. It wasn't in her interest to practice Cicero's memory technique for arbitrary topics such as this. Not satisfied with her answer, he pulled out his laptop and began typing frantically, making all sorts of 'hmm's, 'haaa's and 'nooo's to himself.

"Sherlock, you should really spend a night at home and get some rest….and take a shower" Ciara tutted, moving behind his shoulder to watch what he was up to. He slammed the screen shut before she could observe what he had found and moved aside as he bee-lined for the kitchen and began to stir some substances together. Ciara's phone began to vibrate in her pocket, letting her know she needed to be leaving for work immediately for the evening-to-morning shift.

"Sherlock, I need to go. Please do what I asked and don't turn our flat into a meth lab!".

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Days went by and Sherlock began to obsess over some man named Culverton Smith. Ciara had heard the name and knew she should probably pay more attention to who he was, especially given Sherlock's keen interest in the man. It even went so far as to him taking to Twitter and making murder accusations! But getting a straight answer out of Sherlock, let alone getting him to stay long enough to walk in a straight line, was becoming increasingly difficult. But the hotel had recently gotten very busy with training in new staff for the upcoming holiday season, and she was working long shifts to help out. There was no time for her to monitor her flatmate's mental stability, never mind keep track of the latest potential serial killers. Several times, she had picked up her phone to text Mycroft and warn him that Sherlock was behaving differently. Each time, it felt like she was betraying him and decided against it. He had been the one to keep her distracted in the evenings where she was likely to mope about and question what had occurred between herself and Mycroft. Months of regular contact, outings and home visits had just stopped because of what? It irked her that he wouldn't give his reasons, merely deflecting conversation as if she hadn't raised the question. And all contact had ceased since then. Only Sherlock continued to listen to her rant when the mood struck her and asked her all sorts of bizarre questions to help him with a case, so she knew which Holmes brother was currently he favourite.

It was about late one night when Ciara was working. It had been a particularly hectic night so far as one of the guests went into labour one month prematurely and had to wait for the ambulance service to arrive. However, before they arrived, the woman had begun to gestate, and luckily there was a nurse staying in a room down the hallway for a conference that offered to assist, delivering a healthy baby girl. Ciara had made sure that all necessary utensils were on hand and arranged for a complimentary breakfast to be available to all guests the following morning to mark the first child to be born under their roof.

Around 2am, she received a text from Mycroft. She hesitated to answer it as it was the first one he had sent since they parted ways.

 _You don't happen to know why my brother is wondering aimlessly around the streets at this hour? Is he high? –MH._

Ciara groaned. No doubt Sherlock was most definitely high and being a safety hazard to himself and others if he was out in public in his intoxicated state. She was forced to reply as it was a matter of importance.

 _No idea, but he has been hanging around the wrong crowd quite a bit lately though they usually babysit him. Is Bill or anyone else with him? –CM._

 _No, he appears to be alone. Any ideas where he could be going? –MH._

 _None –CM._

The messages stopped there until 6am when she instead was met with a phone call. She was in the middle of over-seeing the morning staff preparing breakfasts, organising for the day's check-out rooms to be marked for cleaning, etc., so she was a little distracted.

"Hello?".

"Good morning. Sherlock has not returned to 221B and we cannot trace his whereabouts" Mycroft's voice sounded grim. Ciara stopped what she was doing and covered the speaker to ask the assisting manager to carry on her work while she took her call to a more private area.

"He's a grown man Mycroft I'm sure he'll turn up okay" she tried to sound calmer than she actually was.

"Ciara….could you please try to find him? Surely you can find him quicker than anyone here-" she cut him off.

"Okay. I'll make you a deal. I'll find your brother when you tell me why you ended things and I only get to hear from you when it's about your brother as if I were nobody?" she snapped. Silence on the other end and she knew she had just lost her cool without intending to. She was tired and lashing out when she should really be concerned for her friend. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. Sherlock's safety is of course priority. I'll leave work now and let you know when I find him" she hung up and heaved a sigh. She scribbled a note for the admin. to note she had left for personal matters and to dock her pay accordingly. She pulled on her walking shoes and began to jog down familiar streets nearby to Baker Street first. Surely, if he had been out all night, he would have instinctively tried to return home at some point and maybe passed out before arriving. Not finding any sign of him, she turned in the direction of John and Mary's former flat. Along the way, she passed by a street where a car horn could be heard beeping. There, in the middle of the street, stood the consulting detective. His eyes were listless and his mouth hung agape slightly as he was lost in his mind. Another car came around the bend and didn't seem to see him as it kept going. Ciara ran straight passed him and waved her hands to try get the driver's attention to stop. By the time she had accomplished this, the car made impact and she rolled over the top of the car and slapped off the other side. Her head hit the pavement with a crack and she drifted into unconsciousness.

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The driver of the car got out in a panic and dialled 999. He was a business man on his way to work and had dropped his phone while texting. Unaccustomed to people wandering the streets at this hour, he figured he would be safe to reach down for it and was shocked to find a woman racing frantically towards him when he sat upright again. Another car pulled up soon afterwards and a shady looking guy approached him, his expression horrified.

"What happened to her?!" Bill shouted. Ciara looked terrible. Bruising was forming around her temple and a trail of blood was dribbling from her lips. Not to mention her right leg was twisted at the thigh, most likely from a broken femur bone.

"It was an accident! She came running at me like a mad woman, I swear" the driver defended himself. Ambulance sirens could be heard approaching and people on their way to work were beginning to watch and whisper as they passed by. Bill quickly went over to Sherlock and tried to get his attention, but he was totally out of it. Bill all but dragged him and shoved him into his car when the emergency services arrived on the scene. He quickly told the paramedics her name and address and left a number for them to contact later on when she had been seen to as he made excuses that his other friend wasn't well and had an appointment to make. He then ran back to his car and sped off before they could question him further. He rubbed at his face nervously as he drove along the streets and glanced over at Sherlock.

"Ah Shezza, what have you gone and done now?".


	15. Chapter 15

Ciara woke up dazed and confused momentarily. There was a faint beeping noise and an awful taste of blood and anaesthesia in the back of her throat. She quickly realised that she was in a hospital wing and that she had been in a collision trying to save Sherlock. A nurse noticed she was beginning to wake u and came over to check if she was concussed and go over her injuries. She had a wound at the back of her head which required 4 stitches and her femur was broken. She was due to be discharged in a week and would be looking at a minimum of 4 months physiotherapy to get strength and flexibility back in her leg. Additionally, she had quite a number of bruises across her torso, so she was advised against sudden movement until she had begun to heal.

When the nurse had left, she took the time to look around her bed. Everything was bare and boring. On her bedside table was a vase with Zinnia flowers. A tiny note was hanging out from it and Ciara flinches as she reached out to take it. She unfolded the small note which elegantly read:

 _You are in my thoughts, my dear. I wish you a speedy recovery._

It wasn't signed, but she recognised the hand-writing and crumpled up the letter as tears began to fall softly. That tit. She appreciated the sentiment, but she really wished he would just leave her be. After all, he hadn't wanted anything more to do with her, so why send her flowers? Unless he was feeling guilty that she was hit by a car saving his brother. She quickly wiped the tears away as she noticed a short, stubby man with balding hair enter the wing and approach her.

"Everything alright, sweetheart?" his voice was high-pitched and sounded almost theatrical. Ciara studied him carefully. His eyes were dead, but his expression seemed liable to change quickly with his thought processes. He was incredibly cheery for a man in a hospital full of sick, injured and dying innocents. Ciara instantly felt a sense of foreboding and was anxious for him to leave her alone, though she could hardly do that.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" she asked. The man burst into a fit of giggles.

"You must be joking me, love?" he cackled haughtily. "You don' know who I am?". Ciara shook her head slightly and stopped as her head began to spin.

"I'm Culverton Smith. Haven't you seen me on T.V.? I'm running for prime minister" he told her proudly. Ciara's head was pounding. This was the man Sherlock was making accusations about. If her gut was anything to go by, she knew that Sherlock had been right and that this man was likely a psychopathic murderer. A powerful and rich psychopathic murderer.

"O-oh, I think I remember seeing some of your campaign posters, Mr. Smith" she squeaked, holding her head. His beady eyes scrutinised her and he smiled wickedly at her.

"Ah there it is. All this thinkin' is hurtin' that pretty head of yours after your accident. Allow me to increase the morphine for you. Take the bite off the pain" he murmured, adjusting the dials n her drip. It wasn't long until all feeling began to numb and she felt high as a kite. "There. We wouldn't want the flatmate of Mr. Sherlock Holmes to have an unpleasant stay here now would we, Miss Collins?" he grinned. Ciara allowed her eyes to roll back into her skull and pretended to pass-out. She waited until she could feel all tension leave her body, leaving her to believe he had left her bedside.

Her eyes opened into slits and confirmed her assumption. No way would she be able to stay here for a week. She was ill at ease knowing this man had complete access to her and that Sherlock was gunning for him. A pair of crutches lay across the room from her by an empty bedside. First off, she needed to reduce the morphine levels and figure out how she was going to pull herself across the room to the crutches in her drugged state. She turned the dial completely off and rested for a few minutes until the pain in her leg began to resurface.

Preparing herself for pain and dizziness, she forced herself upright and tried to pull her legs around the edge of the bed. This caused excruciating pain and she had to pull a pillow across her face to stifle her screams and sobs. She was wheezing from the pain when another set of footsteps were heard approaching her room. She panicked, anticipating it to be Culvertone returning to torture her she was helpless to move in case she screamed any more. To her surprise, it was Mycroft that walked in. His eyes widened when he saw her sitting up and attempting to stand.

"You do realise a broken femur means you physically cannot stand on your leg until it has reconsolidated itself, yes?" he barked, swiftly crossing the room to help her lay back down.

"Mycroft, Culvertone Smith was here. I can't stay-" she began and he rolled his eyes.

"You've been spending too much time with brother mine" he dismissed her. "Did you like the flowers?" he asked softly, but his voice drifted as he spotted his note crumpled up at the end of the sheets. Ciara avoided his eyes, pouting slightly.

"If you're feeling bad about the accident, save it. I did it for Sherlock, not you. And had I known I would end up in hospital with a psychopath, I would have let him take the hit. A sociopath is a much better match for a psychopath" she gritted her teeth as the throbbing in her leg escalated. Mycroft tried to blank all emotion from his countenance, but his eyes showed his remorse and melancholy as well as devotion that he couldn't quite dispel when he was around her.

"You really do not wish to be here in particular?" he asked her. She looked up at him, her lips tight with fear. He sighed and pulled out his phone.

"I'll arrange for you to be transferred immediately to UCLH" he turned to make the call but was stopped by a gentle tug at the end of his blazer. Ciara was hanging half off the mattress, her eyes gazing up at him pleadingly.

"Don't leave me alone in here" she whispered. His stomach did that awful emotional flip-flop and he was powerless to stop himself from taking a seat beside her and arranging the transfer from there. While they waited for nurses to come wheel her to the ambulance outside, they sat an uncomfortable silence. Mycroft bounced his knee tensely and stared the wires in her arm that were supposed to be keeping the pain to a minimum. He observed that they were merely causing swelling around the tiny puncture wounds. "Thank you, Mycroft. For this and for the flowers. You have to realise that it isn't easy to go so long without being in contact with you to flowers, an affectionate note and a hospital visit". He looked up at her in wonder.

" _Affectionate_ note?".

"Well, you did refer to me as _your dear_ " she emphasised with a light smile. She couldn't help it. It was both touching and heart-breaking to think of him as thinking of her with endearment. He said nothing for a moment and then took her hand to rub small circles.

He cleared his throat and spoke. "You have just taken a hit for my brother, even after all the pain and confusion I caused you. I don't think it wise for us to resume our past relations, but I do want us to be friends. Much to your misfortune, you will always be dear to me now that you're a part of both my brother's life and mine". Ciara stared intently at him and was lost for words. But there was no time to respond as the medical staff entered and prepared to move her to UCLH. Mycroft stood and waited patiently to walk downstairs with her. As they made their way towards the elevator, they passed Culvertone Smith, who frowned deeply when he saw his latest prey being escorted away and out of reach. Ciara felt a gentle squeeze on her shoulder, reassuring her that she was safe and moving to a more secure location.

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A week later, Ciara was given the all clear to return home to 221B. Her stitches were removed from the back of her head and she was given prescription for pain killers that would get her through the nights. She was to visit a physiotherapist daily for her leg and needed crutches in the meantime to get around on her own. The one thing she was dying to do when she returned home was have a shower to get the gunk out of her hair and the smell of hospital off her skin. Bill offered to pick her up and bring her back to the flat, which she hadn't expected but gratefully accepted. He explained in the meantime that Sherlock had continued his drug bender but that when he had sobered after her accident, he had admitted to feeling sorry.

Bill helped her inside and she was greeted by a sympathetic Ms Hudson.

"Aw dearie, if you need anything, anything at all, you just let me know. I may be your landlady, but just for you, I'll also make you a cup of tea or help you with the shower if you need me to. I still remember when my friend Peggy broke her leg skiing with a lovely Danish bloke when we were younger. Mind you, she probably wanted his helping hands more than mine but he was too busy nosing up a Swiss model after her accident" she babbled as they slowly climbed the stairs.

"Thank you, Ms Hudson. I really appreciate your kindness" she huffed and smiled as they made it to the halfway landing. Bill had been quietly following behind them in case she fainted backwards, but when he saw she had strength enough to finish the climb, he darted ahead of them and opened the door to find Sherlock lying flat on his back in the middle of the room.

"Sherlock" he nudged him with his foot. "C'mon mate. Ciara's back". Sherlock sat up and wobbled unsteadily.

"Ciara? Where have you- I'm so sorry" he slurred and fell backwards once more in a stupor. Ms Hudson shook her head disappointedly and let out a sob.

"Oh Sherlock". Ciara patted her landlady's back gently.

"Don't worry Ms Hudson. He'll come right eventually. We just need to be there to support him when he feels himself falling further" she soothed and hobbled her way into her room.


	16. Chapter 16

It was three weeks later when Ciara was struggling to dress herself in her flat. The bruising had healed nicely around her midsection, but putting on pants was such a chore. Her leg itched painfully and there was nothing she could do most of the time except lay around and re-read her books. In the living area, she could hear Sherlock running around and shouting like a lunatic. It was becoming increasingly worrying and so she was determined to go and calm him down. She jumped out of her skin when gunshots were fired. Peeping down the hallway, she found Ms Hudson cowering by the doorframe. The landlady rounded the corner to find Sherlock breathing heavily. Spotting her he relaxed visibly.

"Oh, hello. Can I have a cup of tea?". Unsure of what to do, she proceeded to prepare him a cuppa. He paced back and forth like a panther and his mutterings increased, shaking his head like a schizophrenic. It was clear that he was suffering side-effects from hallucinogenic drugs.

Ciara hid behind her door once more and hopped over to her phone. She sent an S.O.S. to Mycroft about Sherlock's present state. She jumped when Sherlock could be heard roaring for his tea. He goaded Ms Hudson as she shakily went to hand it to him and dropped it. Impressively, Sherlock caught it mid-fall but dropped his gun in the process. This was snatched up by Ms Hudson and she held him at gunpoint. She called for Ciara to come out and fetch the pair of handcuffs from the salad drawer. Ms Hudson then escorted Sherlock downstairs to her car and got two boys from the café below to help her force him into her car. Ciara watched from the window and feared that at any moment, Sherlock would try wrestle the gun from her or get shot trying. She watched on as the two men comically carried and dropped him 'accidentally' on the way to Ms Hudson's car and stuffed him into the boot.

"I'll not have you jumping out the window Sherlock. You could cause and accident and get someone killed" she had tutted. Ciara was surprised to see what a nice car Ms Hudson had but she was more terrified of the way she sped off, driving like a Formula-1 racer. If anyone was going to cause an accident that day, it was the dark horse in the driver's seat!

It wasn't long afterwards that Ciara heard her phone vibrating on the coffee table.

 _I take it that is Ms Hudson's Aston Martin heading for the suburbs and causing a disturbance? Is Sherlock with you? –MH_

Ciara quickly texted back to confirm that Ms Hudson had taken Sherlock and was likely headed to find John Watson, wherever that was. No more was said after that and so she went about her day until her physio session that afternoon.

###############################################################

When Ciara came home late in the afternoon, she was surprised by how much had taken place in the space of one afternoon. Sherlock had apparently met with John and a series of other anticipated meetings took place as per his drug induced calculations. They then met with Culvertone Smith, visited the hospital children's wing and Sherlock made an attempt on his life in the morgue after finding out that the woman that was supposed to be Smith's daughter looked nothing like who Sherlock recalled meeting with and confirmed herself that she had no idea who the consulting detective was. This lead to Mycroft ordering thorough investigation of the flat. They really began to tear the place apart from top to bottom, so Ciara tiredly made her way to her room to rest and take her evening dose of painkillers. A young member of the investigation team barged into her room and she screamed for him to get out.

"Sorry ma'am, but we have orders to check every inch of this floor" he sniffed at her. She was about to retort when Mycroft appeared at the doorway and stared the man down.

"This room is clear. I suggest checking _Sherlock's_ room at the end of the hallway" he whispered dangerously. The man nodded nervously and quickly exited the room. Ciara sat there as Mycroft simply nodded with a lopsided smile and closed her bedroom door after himself. A time later, she heard Ms Hudson screeching and mocking Mycroft for being an idiot. Ciara was curious as to what was going on and crutched her way to the living room.

"Well, what does he do with anything he can't answer John? Everytime?".

"He stabs it".

"Anything he can't find the answer for, BANG! It's up there. I keep telling him if he was any good as a detective then I wouldn't need a new mantle" she laughed triumphantly. On the mantle, they found the envelope containing Mary's video message. The words _Miss Me?_ were scrawled on the disc to grab their attention so it was clear that they immediately suspected it to have been left by Moriarty. Ciara felt she had to warn them however.

"Wait, John. This is something that should be watched alone with people close to you" she croaked, hopping across the room. He inhaled sharply when he saw her standing there with crutches.

"What happened to you?" he shrieked. Ciara waved her hand to say that it wasn't important.

"Car accident. I'm recovering just fine. Believe me when I tell you though that this is going to be a very personal video and you don't want all these strangers around you when you see it".

"What's on the disc, Ciara?" Mycroft asked from behind the landlady. All eyes turned to the crippled girl as she stood balancing on one leg. She locked eyes with John.

"It's Mary" she said slowly. Ms Hudson took her at her word and demanded everyone who had a shred of human decency left in them to leave. Mycroft alone remained standing there, not getting that he wasn't included in the intimate friends club. Ms Hudson straightened herself to her fullest height and stared him down.

"Get out of my house, you reptile" she hissed at him. Not willing to start a war with the woman, Mycroft begrudgingly left the building. The pain medication began to take effect and had a drowsy side-effect. She slumped down on the couch and felt her eyes grow heavier and heavier. She felt bad that as John forced himself to watch the entire message left by his dead wife for the man he blamed for her death, she had fallen asleep

################################################################

The next morning, she awoke groggily on the couch with a blanket tossed over her. She blinked blearily and sat up, ignoring the beginnings of the day's painful aches. She called out for Ms Hudson, who was awake and bustling about downstairs. The landlady came up and Ciara asked her what had happened after she passed out. She learned that John had taken off to save Sherlock from Culvertone Smith and flicked on BBC news. It showed that Culvertone Smith had confessed to being a serial killer, as recorded by a device hidden in the great Sherlock Holmes' hospital suite. They reported than Sherlock was recovering from minor injuries and that he was aided by his companion Dr John Watson in catching Culvertone Smith. Ciara smiled proudly as she saw a brief shot of the two men in a hospital room miming words to each other.

###########################################################

It was the end of the week when Ciara and Sherlock heard footsteps come racing up the stairs of 221B. Sherlock instantly recognised them and turned his shoulders expectantly towards the door. John appeared panting and frantic. He took his usual seat across from Sherlock and recounted his latest visit to his therapist. She was the woman he had had an affair with and she claimed to be named Eurus, Greek for the god of the East Wind. She said she was Sherlock and Mycroft's _sister._ Ciara and John expected Sherlock to be surprised by this. Instead it was like the pieces of a puzzle had fallen into place. The note left behind by the phantom woman he thought was Faith Smith. It had been Eurus. He sat with his fingers poised together, his eyes miles away thinking of how Mycroft could have hidden this potential sibling from him. What reason? Where had she been all this time? And why couldn't Sherlock remember her? What was it that she wanted? Was she working with Moriarty for this final problem that he had been waiting for? Was _she_ the final problem? Sherlock was furious. How dare Mycroft keep this from him. He was going to confront him about this. But he was going to do it in a way that there would be nowhere for his brother to run, and no lies to hide behind. Ciara caught that twinkle in Sherlock's eye and knew that a devious plan was forming in his head. She sighed and caught John's attention.

"I know Mycroft can be a tit, but don't let Sherlock kill him just yet" she joked.


	17. Chapter 17

Ciara sat alone on the couch in 221B, laptop resting on her knees as she sent emails to her health insurance company to claim funds for her leg injury. It was tedious, but she knew it had to be done if she wanted to have any money left in her bank account! She sighed with boredom, glancing around the empty living space for her absent flatmate. Sherlock and John were currently off to execute their devious plan of forcing Mycroft to reveal the truth about the enigmatic Holmes sibling named Eurus, the East wind.

From what she understood, they were going for some bump in the night theatrics, having hired a clown and some blood special effects technician. She wished her leg wasn't such a handicap, as it sounded like the plan would be fun, although maybe not for Mycroft. Finally, she hit send on the e-mail that was currently open and turned her attention to work e-mails. Since she was unable to work during the busiest season of the year, she was forced to take care of administrative work from the comfort of her home while the trainee manager dealt with the hands-on labours at the hotel.

Her inbox had 27 unopened messages, with angry cap locks on some to communicate that they required immediate attention. Massaging the back of her neck, Ciara groaned and decided to tackle the 'urgent' emails first while she still possessed the motivation to help out.

By the time she had dealt with the emergency correspondences, Sherlock had returned to the flat with a triumphant smirk on his face. Ciara smiled warmly and greeted him when he waltzed in and removed his long over-coat.

"I take it your plan was successful?" she queried.

"Of course it was. If anyone is going to out-smart Mycroft, it's going to be me" he bragged shamelessly. Ciara laughed under her breath and shook her head lightly. She manoeuvred her cast leg off the couch to rest on the floor and patted the couch beside her. Sherlock quirked an eyebrow but obliged none the less. He was in fact taking it as an invitation to recount his success and proceeded with great enthusiasm (and at times exaggeration) to inform his flatmate of how his brother had been deceived into revealing the truth of Eurus' existence.

When he had finished, Ciara was grinning widely and trying her best not to laugh too much at Mycroft's expense. Really, she shouldn't encourage this sibling rivalry as they would very much need each other to overcome this ordeal. Still, the Holmes brothers had a knack for acting outrageously in the most comical way imaginable.

"I take it we can expect your brother to visit as a client then tomorrow?".

"Hmmm. John will be over first thing and I expect Mycroft will not be long afterwards. He will want to beat the queue after all".

##############################################################

Ciara was awoken once more by a stinging sensation in her leg. She knew that it was a sign of recovery, but damn it was unpleasant to wake up to! She blinked the sleep from her eyes and checked the clock on her phone to see it was just after 9.30am. She knew that John should be arriving soon and decided to duck into the shower while the flat had yet to be invaded. It would take her sometime after all to mobilise herself comfortably into the bathroom, wash herself and get dressed without relying on Mrs Hudson for assistance.

She grabbed her crutches and selected some loose fitting clothes that would be simple enough to dress n afterwards and headed into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. As she was beginning to soak her hair, she could hear Sherlock in the living room greeting John and offering his a cuppa. Not long after, the sound of Mrs Hudson's usual Sunday morning playlist could be heard blaring downstairs and Ciara felt her muscles beginning to relax. When she felt that her leg was no longer as tense as it had been, she stepped out and began the slow, agonising chore of pulling on her underwear and tracksuit bottoms. She was easing the waistband up over her thigh when she could hear a masculine voice shouting her name in the living room. Curious, she ran her fingers through her damp hair and hopped over to unlock the bathroom door.

"DON'T COME INTO THE LIVING ROOM!".

###################################################################

While Ciara had been washing her hair, Mycroft had arrived and sneered rudely at his brother and the doctor while they ridiculed him and forced him to sit in the 'client's' chair. It was absolutely absurd that he, Mycroft Holmes and Sherlock's brother none the less, should have to sit like a common goldfish from the street and seek help from the only consulting detective.

He was forced to swallow his pride and mute his ego temporarily though. With as much dignity as he could salvage, he seated himself in the chair and cleared his throat. Mrs Hudson got her little digs in and was dismissed by a gentle nod from Sherlock. They then began to summarise what they knew so far about the current issue. Sherlock was getting more agitated by the secrets his brother had been withholding for so long.

"Why can't I remember her?".

"This is a private matter" he grumbled, jaw tensed.

"John stays" interjected Sherlock dismissively.

"This is a family matter!" hissed Mycroft.

"That's WHY he stays!". Silence as the Homes brothers shared a heated stare. John tried and failed to keep the proud smirk from surfacing on his features. Mycroft would be playing by their rules, Sherlock and John's. It was two against one, proving that caring could be an advantage after all. Mycroft was forced to relent. He began to reveal the facts of Eurus' circumstances, the events at the Musgrave home, Sherlock's missing memories, and Sherrinford.

They were cut off when a drone flew in through the back window, a haunting voice humming that same rhyme which the Holmes brothers recognised to be their sisters'. Immediately the men were on edge as Mycroft recognised the device it was carrying.

"It's a DX707. I've authorised the purchase of quite a number of these. Colloquially it is known as the patience grenade".

"Patience?" John echoed, swallowing a lump in his throat.

"The motion sensor has activated. If any of us move, the grenade will detonate".

"How powerful?".

"It'll certainly destroy this flat and kill anyone in it. Assuming walls of reasonable strength, your neighbours should be safe, but as it's landed on the floor, I am moved to wonder if the café below is open".

"It's Sunday morning so it's closed".

"What about Mrs Hudson?"

"Going by her usual Sunday routine, I estimate she has another 2 minutes left".

"She keeps the vacuum cleaner in the back of the flat".

"So?".

"So she is safer there when she's putting it away. But we have to move eventually. We should do it when she's safest".

"When the vacuum stops, we give her 8 seconds to move to the back of the flat, she's faster than she is cleaning. Then we move".

"What of Miss Murphy?".

"Ciara has been out of the shower for 5- no 6 minutes now. Enough time for her to struggle in to her ghastly sports trousers" Sherlock murmured, catching Mycroft's eye. Mycroft controlled his expression and continued to process the best course of action. They would need to get her attention to warn her before they made a dash to escape the blast. "CIARA" Sherlock called out as loudly as he could manage from where he stood. The listened intently and could hear the latch begin to turn in the door.

"DON'T COME INTO THE LIVING ROOM" John roared. A pause followed before Ciara's muffled voice could be distinguished.

"What's going on out there?".

"Eurus has sent a bomb here that will be triggered by movement. We're currently waiting for Mrs Hudson to continue with her routine. When she does, we need to move as quickly as possible for the exit" Sherlock summarised for her.

Ciara's breath caught in her throat and she felt her stomach drop. They expected her to outrun a blast in her crippled state? At best, she would make it to the first flight of steps before being seared by flames.

"Miss Murphy" Mycroft's calm voice caught her attention and she forced herself to steel her nerves. "I understand you may be a bit apprehensive given the nature of your injury. However, I will be exiting via the stairwell also, so I will assist you in any way I can once we make our move. It should be safe for you to open the door now, so please grab a crutch if you have one and prepare to make for the exit" he instructed.

Well, how can one argue with his logic when it was delivered with such cool confidence? Ciara gathered up a single crutch and slowly pried the door open. Back against the wall, she awaited their signal for her to move passed the open doorway that would lead to the top of the only exit available to her. She could feel the adrenaline beginning to swell in her veins as her heart rate increased and her stomach began to knot itself with anticipation. She kept her nerves at bay by focusing in the conversation that followed.

"….What's the trigger response time? Once we're mobile, how long do we have before detonation?".

"We have a maximum of 3 seconds to vacate the blast ranges"

"John and I will take the windows. You take the stairs. Help to get Mrs Hudson out too".

"Me?!".

"You're closer".

"You're faster".

"Speed differential won't be as critical as the distance".

"Yes, agreed" Mycroft conceded to the responsibility he was now burdened with.

"She's further away, moving towards the back" John noted, ear cocked slightly to trace any further changes.

"I estimate we have a minute left. Is a phone call possible?".

"Phone call?".

"John has a daughter. He may wish to say goodbye" Sherlock gritted. Ciara's bottom lip jutted out at the thought of the young girl whose father was currently only a few feet away from a fatal device. How had it come to this? They were meant to be having a small meeting to get information, not jumping into a life-or-death scenario such as this.

"I am sorry doctor Watson but any movement will set of the grenade. I hope you understand".

"Oscar Wilde" John spoke up suddenly, recalling their earlier conversation.

"What?".

"He said 'the truth is rarely pure and never simple'. It's from _The Importance of Being Earnest_. We did it at school" he elaborated.

"So did we, now I recall. I was Lady Bracknell" Mycroft smirked to himself fondly at the memory.

"You were great" Sherlock praised softly, voice cracking slightly.

"You really think so?".

"Yes I really do".

"That's good to know. I've always wondered".

"Good luck boys….3….2…1...GO".

################################################################

Ciara got halfway down the first flight with Mycroft hot on her heels when the bomb went off. She lost grip on her crutch and lurched forward over the final few steps. She hit the landing with a heavy thud and clamped her eyes shut as the sound of plaster splintering filled the air and flames began to eat away at the infrastructure.

A weight was felt on top of her and she feared that a wall had collapsed on her. Peering through squinted lids, she was shocked to find Mycroft body-protecting her from the source of the explosion.

Dust was coating his fine tailored suit and she was afraid that he had been knocked unconscious. Heavy smoke was beginning to fill the air and she coughed slightly from underneath him. She tried to move to roll him off her but a stabbing feeling in her broken leg quickly made her abandon that attempt. A weary groan came from the body atop her and Mycroft lifted his head from over her shoulder to assess the damage done to the stairs and to themselves. He slowly sat up onto his knees.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"As alright as I could be in this situation" she squeaked incredulously. He smirked at her and heaved himself to his feet before lending her his arm to stand up. She clung onto him and buried her nose into his shirt as the smoke began to irritate her lungs. The floorboards beneath their feet creaked slightly as they sluggishly made their way across to the final descent.

Through watery eyes, she urged him onwards to get out before the stairs caved in. He helped her down the final steps and they exited 221 Baker Street by the back entrance, reuniting with a distraught Mrs Hudson as she bemoaned her residence which was once more destroyed by a Holmes disaster.

Anthea had pulled the car around to the street across the way. Mycroft checked his phone and guided Ciara to the vehicle with great patience. It must have been the situation they were in, but there was nothing awkward about it. In fact, Ciara had never felt more at ease with Mycroft than at that moment when he freely supported her around the waist and whispered words of encouragement in her ear as she hobbled along beside him.

Once in his car, they went to a private clinic for medical care. Mycroft made the calls necessary to report what happened and put investigations to rest so as to not draw high alert to Eurus just yet. He, Sherlock and John would prepare to go to Sherrinford as soon as they were given the all clear for any minor injuries sustained in the blast.

The boys got off lucky with some minor scratches and bruising, perhaps a sprained ankle or two but nothing as incapacitating as a broken limb. The stress of the day and the exertion had caused Ciara's leg to become inflamed. Regardless of what position she occupied, it felt like it was on fire and so she was prescribed with strong anti-inflammatory tablets that would also cause drowsiness to help her sleep through the healing. With her home burnt to a cinder and no other family around to look after her, Mycroft insisted that Ciara remained in his house.

"Mycroft, I couldn't possibly do that!" she protested as he directed his driver to take them to his estate. He rolled his eyes at her and pocketed his phone to stare down his nose at her.

"You can and you will Miss Murphy. While I am away to deal with my sister, Anthea shall be available to you and will ensure that you get plenty of bed rest" he droned apathetically. Ciara groaned, her head falling back against the head rest.

"You're giving mixed signals here Mycroft. You want to be companions, then you break it off and now you're putting me up in you private quarters" she argued.

"What alternative do you suggest then? Do you have another home? Family to stay with? Any friends that are willing to 'put you up' and adjust their lifestyle to enable your recovery?" he scoffed, eyes narrowing at her for a retort.

"I could stay at the hotel where I work" she muttered weakly. He paused very briefly to consider this but quickly shook his head angrily.

"Absolutely not. You'll need to be waited on until you can get out of bed again without assistance and I will not risk a security breach in such a public place. I want you in my house where only people I trust and have authorised to be there can get to you" he said with a pained tone of finality. Ciara was struck by the latter half of his argument and looked out the window to consider her options. She let out a shaky sigh and slowly brought herself to lock eye contact with him.

"I have to ask, is it your current familial dilemma that is making you this stressed or do you still harbour feelings for me?" she whispered. He was quiet as her words sunk in and he respected her enough to give them full consideration.

"It may be a fraction of both" he glanced away from her with hesitation. The rest of the car ride was spent in silence. They arrived outside his home and he aided her inside. A bedroom was prepared downstairs for her so that she would have ease of access to the rest of the house when she was physically capable of manoeuvring herself around on crutches. Her room was simple, albeit decorated with sophisticated wall panelling and gothic décor which she approved of.

"Do you think I could maybe stay in the living room for tonight? I'd like to watch a DVD to occupy myself if that's okay" she requested once he had made sure her room was acceptable to her needs. He sent a quick text to his assistant to confirm that she would be on house-sitting duty while he was away before wrapping his arm around Ciara's waist and leading her to his sitting room. He set up the DVD player with _The Sound of Music_ and excused himself to pack a gear bag of necessary items for his mission. His house phone rang not long after but was ignored from upstairs. The click of the voicemail could be heard faintly in the kitchen and Ciara's ears were perceptive to a familiar feminine voice.

"Hello Mr Holmes, I was merely calling….to see how you are doing and if you have any interest in spending another evening together? Dinner at the Savoy this weekend perhaps would be more to your taste than what we last decided on. That is all for now, good evening" and a click indicated that Lady Smallwood had hung up.

Ciara simply returned her attention to the movie in front of her and increased the volume to drown out any unwanted thoughts which threatened to derive an emotive response from her. With her eyes growing more distant and the singing of nuns filling her ears, she failed to notice a lurking shadow that had watched her response from the doorway.

After a minute of deliberation, Mycroft decided it was best for him to refrain from addressing what had just happened. A part of him wanted to explain that Lady Smallwood was a work colleague and that he had no interest in developing a more intimate relationship with her. Another part of him questioned why he should have to explain himself on such a matter. A silent section of his brain knew exactly why he had these feelings but refused to be of any assistance in the matter and allowed him to walk away to focus on more pressing matters. The front door opened and his assistant let herself in, looking up from her blackberry with a small, empty smile.

"The car is waiting to take you to the pier sir. See you when you return".


	18. Chapter 18

Ciara had fallen asleep in front of the television soon after Mycroft left for Sherrinford. She awoke the next day on the couch and blinked blearily at her surroundings. Recalling that she was now being housed in Mycroft's home, she stretched and frowned deeply.

Technically, this was house arrest by the British government in literal and figurative sense. Anthea's voice drifted in from the kitchen area, speaking in a low, bored tone to somebody about rescheduling a meeting. Ciara figured she'd get up and move to her room to try get dressed, forgetting briefly about re-injuring her wound but was soon reminded when a searing pain lit up every peripheral nerve in her body and made her fall flat on her face with a hiss.

A quick muttering of 'Bye' and Anthea swiftly came into her line of sight with a sarcastic grin.

"Good morning".

"Hi" Ciara choked through gasps from the carpet. Anthea crouched next to her and with great care, they managed to get Ciara back on the couch.

"I'll fetch your pain meds. Please do not move again" Anthea smiled as she returned to the kitchen, heels clicking behind her. As promised, she returned with the pills and a glass of cold water. Ciara gratefully accepted them and they sat in an awkward silence. Ciara coughed slightly.

"So what is the plan for the day? Anything to keep occupied around here?" she quirked. Anthea smiled faintly.

"Whatever you need to stay entertained, fed, quenched, etc., you're to let me know and I'll do my best to accommodate you. Just no leaving the house, and after just now, I'd suggest you don't move at all". Ciara laughed slightly and laid back on the couch.

"Pyjama day it is then. If you're taking requests, I'd like to watch Disney movies and have some toast with a cup of tea. Is that possible and will you join me?".

"I think I can make that work". The two women smiled warmly at each other and so they set about spending their day indoors with some of the greatest movies of all time.

################################################################

They were watching Finding Nemo when Ciara's mind began to drift. Anthea was also not paying much attention as her fingers danced around the keypad of her Blackberry, eyes glued to the text which appeared to ensure there were no typos. Ciara was reminded of all the time Mycroft had compared people to fish.

Perhaps this was how he saw the world, and she was finally beginning to sneak a peek into this perspective. She found it humorous to imagine he saw the Dorys, Marvins, Bruces and Nemos of the world like a Pixar flick.

Perhaps his world was not as colourful, exotic or entertaining as this though. Instead, his was made up of the asshole fish from other movies, like Moriarty the Kracken with so many connections, Magnussen the Jaws of world that sets everyone on edge, and Culverton Smith the piranha that seemed so small and harmless but had one hell of a bite to him.

So what did that make Mycroft? Some sort of Poseidon that kept guard over the ocean and tried to control the ecosystem? Was she nothing more than a fish at the lower end of the food-chain?

She most certainly felt like that now, spread out in his living room with his personal assistant and who knows what other levels of security surrounding the building. _I really am a guppy_ she thought to herself, with Flounder's voice substituting her inner monologue. She smiled weakly and was brought out of her reverie when Anthea stood up.

"What would you like to eat for dinner this evening? I'll step out to fetch it now as well as run a few errands" she asked, still texting furiously without missing a beat.

"Oh, uhm Indian food maybe? Some naan and saag aloo would be ideal" Ciara answered and waved goodbye as Anthea left her on the couch, alone. She switched of the television and stared at the ceiling, getting lost in her thoughts once more.

What was she to Mycroft? A friend? An ex-girlfriend? And ex-friend? These were muddy waters. He had gone so long without contacting her when he ended things, suddenly Sherlock needed help and he was all ears.

Getting injured on Sherlock's behalf seemed to reconnect them more directly, but it still didn't change the way he looked at her, like he needed to be on guard and distant from her. It hurt, she would admit, to think that he wanted her in his life, but not in _his_ life. She was so confused. And then there was that voicemail last night….

It seemed to Ciara that Mycroft was also unsure about what he wanted. More than likely, Ciara was beginning to think what he wanted was for her to be there at beckon and call when he needed her to advise him on Sherlock's welfare when no one else would be upfront about him, but for a life partner, Lady Smallwood would be the best candidate. She was glamorous, sophisticated, deeply involved in politics and a strong character.

And here she was, reduced to depending on his PA to help her like a weak and helpless charity case. She was homeless and hopeless. She sniffed as tears began to pour down her cheeks. Great. Now she was feeling sorry for herself. Wiping her cheek furiously and letting out a light sob, she shook her head and tried her best to banish her depressing emotions. She would save her breath as far as trying to compete for a man's affection. There are, after all plenty of fish in the sea. My god this fish metaphor is getting out of hand.

Ciara's phone began to ring out of the blue, startling her out of her train of thought and instigating a temporary hold on her moping. She stared at it through blurry vision as it vibrated on the coffee table and tentatively picked it up. It was an incoming call from Mycroft. Ciara was frozen. What was he ringing her for? Had they finished things at Sherrinford already? Were they in trouble? Was trouble coming here? Was he coming home and wanted her gone before he arrived?

She hung off the side of the couch and stretched across the void to retrieve her device. She held it in her lap and took a few slow deep breaths to steady her voice. She wanted to be calm and composed, regardless of what topic came up. Swiping the slider, she answered with caution.

"Yes?".


	19. Chapter 19

How had they come to this point? John stared mournfully at the corpses hanging outside the Sherrinford window. They had been successful at reaching Sherrinford in disguise and taking the security team on. But it had all spiralled out of their control when they discovered too late that Eurus had brain-washed the entire prison's pay-roll. On top of that, Eurus had met with Moriarty on Christmas day five years ago, a rendezvous which Mycroft of all people had authorised and facilitated.

Now Eurus wanted to play some sick childish games with people's lives. Solve puzzles and kill or more people will die. There was no winning in here. This truly was hell on Earth, as Mycroft had referred to it in their consultation.

The first game had been that they needed to take a life, they meaning either Mycroft or John. The Sherrinford governor had taken his own life in a brave attempt to save his wife because no one else had the gall to murder an innocent man. In Eurus' world, morality was a weakness, and the widow of all but half a minute swiftly followed her husband to the grave.

Just now, they were forced to deduce which of three brothers was a murderer. The three men had dangled from the cliffs outside, fearing that at any moment they would be dropped into the ocean below and washed away from the face of the Earth.

Succeeding in Eurus' games earned them time to talk to a little girl who they believed to be on a plane that was without a pilot and plummeting towards certain death every passing minute. All they knew was that she was on a relatively big plane, with a lot of unconscious people, no pilot and flying through the night. This was the most threatening adversary they had ever faced. And it was Sherlock's _sister_!

Sherlock was doing his best to remain calm, but it was evident to everyone that his emotions were bubbling beneath the surface, threatening to drive him to being the unpredictable and dangerous man they always feared he would one day become.

Sherlock was unpredictable, but he was never really dangerous. There could be a first time for everything though, and John was afraid they would soon find out. Only he would be able to pull Sherlock through this. Not Mycroft, the blood brother, but John Watson, his doctor, his friend, his partner in crime.

As for Mycroft, John was seeing him in the light of a truly concerned brother in a highly dysfunctional family, caught between caring for both siblings and not wanting harm to come to them and their immediate social environment. All his efforts had been in vain, the world he created was now shattered and burning around him. He was livid, guilty and the most on edge he had ever been in his life. He was used to meddling in people's lives to save or protect them, never to take them like what Eurus was doing. Somehow, he felt he was also accountable.

A man and wife died because he could not keep his sister under wraps. They were in this mess because he had kept the truth about his broken sister from his brother for so long, yet here they were now trying to repair that sibling bond.

If he had been honest all these years, would life have been easier? Would Eurus have been reformed? Might she and Sherlock have gone off solving cases together as he and John often did? Or would they have been at war with each other in trying to be better than one another, like the two brothers? Who knows.

Mycroft believed that Sherlock was the man he was because of his memory of Eurus. Maybe he wouldn't even be the same if Eurus had remained a part of his life. He may not have even become a detective, but a captain of the navvy. That seemed like a plausible choice that would be the closest his brother would ever get to being an actual pirate.

What nonsense these thoughts were. They had bigger things to worry about right now.

They moved along to the next room. Inside, they found an empty coffin that lay open with white lining. Its lid was laid against the wall. Beside it was another coffin, but this one had a lavender coloured sheet across it. Its lid also had a lavender coloured sheet wrapped around it against the wall.

The intercom clicked on and they spoke again to the little girl on the plane. They learnt that she was flying closer and closer to a mainland, most likely a city given that she could see lots of lights reflecting on the sky.

Mycroft and John fell into furious whispers as they realised the girl may just have to perform and emergency landing/crash of the plane all by herself with only them there to guide her through it. Sherlock was just urging her to find an adult who might be of help to her when the receiver clicked once more to be replaced by Eurus' fake cheery tone.

"Now back to the matter in hand. Coffins. Problem: Some two people are about to die today. As I understand it, it will be a tragedy. Some many days not lived. So many words left unsaid. Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera" she spouted robotically. It was unnerving that she could be so unnerving as she toyed with another's life.

"Yes, yes. And these I presume will be there coffins!" he spat, wiping the sweat from his brows as he turned to study the wooden boxes.

"Who's coffins Sherlock? The white one is for you, the purple is for Mycroft. You will take this in turns, one at a time so play nice. Sherlock, please start your deductions. I will provide some context in a moment".

"Well, allowing for the entirely pointless courtesy of headroom, I'd say that this coffin is intended from someone about 5 foot 4, makes it more likely to be a woman".

"Not a child?".

"Child's would be more expensive. This is in the lower price range, although still that's debatable on that bracket".

"They'd only know it on Google".

"This is practical and informed choice. Balance of probability suggests this is for an unmarried woman, distant from her close relatives. That is suggested by the economy of choice: acquainted with the necessity of death but unsentimental about the necessity of disposal. Also, the lining of the coffin-".

Mycroft walked over to the lids of the coffins.

"Yes very good Sherlock. Or we could just look at the names on the lids. Only it isn't names. 'I love you' and 'I love you too'".

"So somebody who loves somebody" John mused.

"Somebody who loves Sherlock. This is all about you. Everything here is all about you. So who loves you Sherlock? I assume it's not a very long list".

"Irene Adler".

"Don't be ridiculous. Look at the coffin. Unmarried. Practical about death. Alone".

"Molly" John breathed.

"Molly Hooper" Sherlock confirmed, his tone and expression turning grim.

"She's perfectly safe, for the moment. Her flat is rigged to explode in approximately three minutes unless I hear the release code from her lips. I'm calling her on your phone Sherlock. Make her say it"

"Say what?"

"Obvious surely?"

"No" John gasped. They turned and re-read the words on the coffin lid.

"Yes". She would need to confess her love to Sherlock over the phone.

"Oh, one important restriction, you're not allowed to mention in any way at all that her life is in danger. You may not at any point suggest that there is any form of crisis. If you do, I will end this session, and her life. Are we clear?". Sherlock nodded and bowed his head. His heart was racing and his brain was in overdrive. What was he going to say? Should he try a direct or indirect approach? Would she see through his attempts? What if she hung up? That was not an option.

The screen switched to hidden cameras to Molly's small apartment. She was making herself a cup of tea and leaning on the counter top while she stared out the window. They could see her noticing her phone ring, wiping some tears from her eyes and picking it up to check the caller I.D. She ignored it and cut a wedge of lemon for her beverage. Their heart rates increased with horror.

"What is the doing?"

"She's making tea" Mycroft….aka Captain Obvious.

"Why isn't she answering her phone?" Sherlock said through gritted teeth, struggling to remain calm.

"You don't answer your phone" John pointed out under his breath.

"Yes but it's me calling! Come on answer the phone!" The phone dialled out, going straight through to her quirky little voicemail. They fidgeted uncomfortably at the cheery tone which she used in her automatic message. Molly's life depended on her answering her phone, and she was choosing today of all days to ignore the man she supposedly loved! It's funny how things as simple as her cheerful recording made one highly aware of the stakes to lose. If Molly continued to ignore them, they may never hear that voice again.

"Okay, okay. Just one more time". The phone began to ring again. John muttered words of encouragement, willing Molly to answer her phone. On screen, she squeezed the lemon over her tea and then wiped her hands off a kitchen towel. Slowly, she willed herself to answer the call.

"Hello Sherlock. Is this urgent? Because I'm not having a good day" her voice was strained.

"Molly, I just want you to do something very easy for me, and not ask why".

"Oh god, is this one of your stupid games?".

"No, it's not a game. I ….need you to help me".

"I'm not at the lab".

"It's not about that".

"Oh- well quickly then" she made some clattering noises with cutlery as if to make him think she was preoccupied and uninterested in this conversation. Sherlock swallowed, hating what he was about to do to her and that their relationship was about to be pushed to the edge. "Sherlock what is it?"

"Molly, please, without asking any why, just say these words".

"What words?".

"'I love you'". Silence. He had said it as if he was asking about the weather. It was such a hollow sentiment.

"Leave me alone" she sniffed, moving to hang up.

"Molly NO please NO! Do NOT hang up! It is very important!" he panicked, wishing he could dived through the receiver and snatch her hand away from the red button.

"Calmly Sherlock, or I will finish her right now" Eurus warned.

"Why are you doing this to me?! Why are you making fun of me?!".

"Please just listen to me just listen-".

"Softer Sherlock" Eurus teased.

"Molly, this is for a case. It's a sort of an experiment" he was now fumbling towards an indirect approach.

"I'm not an experiment, Sherlock?" Molly's voice was so quiet, so fragile, it was worrisome. How would she cope with the aftermath of this mess?

"Molly, you're not an experiment. You're my friend. We're friends, aren't we? Please just- Say those words for me" he urged.

"Please don't do this. Please, just- Don't. Do. It" she sobbed.

"Please, it's very important…..I can't say why, but I promise you it is"

"I can't say it. I can't say that to you"

"Of course you can. Why can't you?"

"You know why".

"No I don't why".

"Of course you do".

"Please just say it".

"I can't. Not to you".

"Why?".

"Because…because it's-….it's…. true. Sherlock. It's always been….".

"If it's true, just say it anyway".

"You bastard" she sighed heavily.

"Say it anyway".

"You say it. Go on. You say it first"

"What?". Sherlock faltered. The tables were turning on him. Was he capable of admitting that he loved her? He wasn't sure he could label how he felt about Molly right then and there. All he was sure of was that she didn't deserve to die because of him.

"Say it. Say it like you mean it".

"Final 30 seconds" Beep.

"I…I love you….I love you…...Molly…..Molly please".

"…..I love you". 2 seconds froze on the clock.

"Sherlock, however hard that was for you-" Mycroft began to speak to his brother when he was silenced by Sherlock's curtness.

"Eurus I won. I won. Come on, play fair. The girl on the plane. I need to talk to her. I won. I saved Molly Hooper".

"Patience Sherlock. You're had your fun. Now it's big brother's turn". Mycroft felt his blood run cold.

"Eurus, enough of this" he spat.

"Don't be like that Mycroft. Follow the rules like Sherlock did. In the corner, you'll find a book. This is your game". Walking to the corner, there was indeed a heavy old book lying out of sight. It was an encyclopaedia of flora. A bookmark was in it with the words "I love you too" on it, with a small cartoon of two tatty teddy bears holding hands. Mycroft paled as he instantly recognised the Zinnia flowers bookmarked. They were identical to those he had sent Ciara when she first awoke in hospital with her broken leg.

"No" he whispered. He turned on his heel and glared at the monitor.

"Ah yes, there is the ice-man stare after his heart has been thawed and refrozen. You've spent so many years closed from your emotions, I want to see if you have any left" Eurus smiled. "Now then Mycroft, you know the release code that I want to hear". The monitor switched to hidden cameras in Mycroft's house.

Sherlock and John stiffened as they recognised Ciara sat on the couch in the living room, looking bored stiff. It had been one thing for Sherlock to get Molly to say she loved him. But Mycroft? For him to elicit any sort of affection from this poor woman after everything that had happened? They were fairly certain they were watching the final moments of Ciara's life.

"I'll be calling her from your phone. The same rules apply for you as they did Sherlock. As you love slimming things down, big brother, you'll only be given 2 minutes". The phone began to ring, the timer began its countdown. They watched as Ciara turned to stare at her phone and painstakingly slowly reached over for it.

The back of Mycroft's mind was wondering where his assistant was, that she was not there keeping watch as ordered to. His gut was telling him that Eurus most likely had found some way of luring his assistant (and most likely all other security precautions) away from the house. He really hated being in the field. He'd always preferred to make the hard decisions from his office, like some form of chess. Should he really continue to play into Eurus' hand?

"Mycroft, for the love of God" John whispered harshly, as he noticed Mycroft's hesitance, "you know Ciara better than any of us. Don't sacrifice her! Say whatever you need to that will make her-".

"Yes?" Ciara answered her phone, caution laced in her tone of voice. Great, she was already on edge. This would make things so much easier. Or….

"Ah, yes. Erm, Miss Murphy-" for once, he was at a complete loss for words of action. His mind was reeling as he tried to weigh up the options. Be the soldier, or be the Ice man? How he loathed leg work.

"Mycroft what's going on? Why are you calling me? Did something happen? Is Sherlock ok?". The consulting detective bit his lip and stiffened next to John. Her life was in danger and she could only think of Mycroft and Mycroft's number one priority in life: his younger brother. It was a quality he quite adored in his direct social environment: loyalty. She was still loyal to Mycroft and his main concerns, despite how he might have betrayed her. If they made it through this, Sherlock vowed to make Mycroft's life very difficult until he made amends with this incredible woman.

"Sherlock is perfectly fine…I have a request to ask of you, but I'm afraid you must not expect an explanation. I need you to return my sentiments to me exactly as I say them to you".

"What?".

"I love you".

"Are you dying?!" she screeched. The cameras showed her trying to swing her leg over the couch and crumple forward, her face contorting with pain.

"Don't waste my time! I need you to say the words 'I love you too'".

"Mycroft! How dare you! You cannot go around manipulating people's emotions like that! Giving orders to alter their behaviour is one thing, but affective states are something that you can't just change on a whimsy" she lectured him passionately.

"I know that! I'm not asking you to feel those things, I just want you to say the words 'I love you too'. Is it really too much to ask of you?".

"Jesus….." she scoffed with disbelief and could be seen to shake her head.

"Oh yes, cry out to some deity you don't believe in" he mumbled under his breath. He didn't account for how sensitive the microphone must have been, as Ciara heard his comment.

"Oi! You're not exactly the best at getting people to do what you want them to do. I think I'll call up some old friends and stay with them a while if you're going to act weird" she screamed, taking the phone away from her ear and trying to turn on the backlight to find the hang up button.

"CIARA NO! Do NOT hang up this phone! Please! It's important you stay on the line" his voice rose so suddenly, her finger hovered over the red button. 26 seconds. Mycroft had never yelled at her like that before. It made her anxious.

"Calmly Mycroft. If she gets any idea-" Eurus was about to warn him off alerting her but Ciara was quicker to compose herself.

"….Mycroft, what is going on?" she demanded in a low tone.

"…..I just, I need to hear you say those words" 18 seconds.

"You need or you want? Why is it so bloody urgent for you to hear me say that?..." Ciara's voice cracked, her throat got tight as she could feel a sobbing fit about to overwhelm her. From the cameras, they could see her bowing her head to catch stray tears.

"….I need you to say it because I do love you even though I've spent my life being above those kinds of notions. When I first felt the flicker of affection for you, I honestly thought I had angina. It took me time to admit to myself that I was beginning to feel things. And I hate you for making me feel in love".

"…So now you're blaming me?" she hiccupped.

"Yes, I hate that I love you". 5 seconds.

"…..Well I hate that I love you too" click. The line went dead and the timer was frozen with 1 second remaining. Mycroft blinked and turned with a dull stare to the monitor which showed Eurus.

"You got what you wanted, sister".

"Yes. We saved Molly Hooper and Ciara Murphy. Now let us speak to the girl on the plane, Eurus!" Sherlock demanded.

"Saved them? From what? I didn't send anyone. There were no explosives in the houses. Would I be so clumsy? Brothers, you didn't win. You lost. Look at what you did to those women. Look at what you did to yourselves. All those complicated little emotions, I lost count. Emotional context boys. It destroys you every time. Now, please pull yourselves together. I need you in peak efficiency. The next one isn't going to be so easy. In your own time….." the door leading to the next room swung open on its own. A final glance at the monitor before it went dead showed Ciara hurl her phone across the room, knocking one of Mycroft's most expensive vases in the process. He would have quirked an eyebrow at her outburst on his commodities, if he was not so affected by the cause of her behaviour. He chose to ignore the uncomfortable sensation in his chest to focus on the present situation.

John and Mycroft slowly moved to pass through, but halted as they noticed Sherlock was stood over the empty coffins, staring begrudgingly at the lid. His breathing got more ragged until he could take it no more and he began to take his frustration our on the box, violently thrashing it to pieces as Mycroft and John watched him in a tense silence.

"I know that this is difficult, and I know you are being tortured but you have to keep it together"

"This isn't torture. This is vivisection. We're experiencing science from the side of lab rats!" he took a few deep breaths and exhaled loudly with mirth as Mycroft's stare bored into him from the doorway. Mycroft was merely observing his little brother's turmoil. He felt that Sherlock was expressing enough of the anguish they were all feeling for them to live vicariously through him. For the governor and his wife. For the three brothers. For the girl on the plane. For Molly Hooper. And for Ciara Murphy. John and Mycroft would have to be his rock, as they had always done throughout his life to get him through this. "…soldiers?" Sherlock looked up at John from his place on the floor, looking for the support he needed.

"Soldiers" John confirmed and gave his friend a helping hand to his feet. John passed him the gun and together they pushed forward. Red lights flashed on and off with Moriarty's face taunting them like the hands of a clock. Time was running out.


	20. Chapter 20

Just as suddenly as he had called, Mycroft hung up on Ciara. She sat, shell-shocked for a moment before the tears really started to roll down her cheeks like rivulets. Why did he do this? He simply rang to get her to say something she wasn't sure she could expect back from him, and then he left after he got what he wanted.

This was such a parasitic relationship they had. He used her for company when _HE_ wanted. He used her to look after _HIS_ little brother, though admittedly she liked Sherlock and would fend for him anyway whether she was asked to or not. But the fact that Mycroft saw her as nothing more than a means to an end was what acted as the final straw for her. She wanted out of this place, of _HIS_ space.

She let out a cry that was caught between pain and anger. She flung her phone as hard as she could in front of her and heard a satisfying smash as a vase fell to the floor. She then began to regret he actions as she realised she would have needed it to call a friend to stay with.

She had considered phoning Molly to as if she could stay on her couch for a few days, until she could arrange something a bit more permanent. The trouble was she didn't know Molly's number by heart and would need to pray that her phone wasn't now broken.

Right when she was levering herself out of her seat, Anthea walked in and looked up from her phone with a look of disdain.

"You shouldn't be moving from the couch, remember?".

"I need my phone" Ciara rasped, her throat still raw from the series of emotions that had just hit her. Anthea remained silent but retrieved Ciara's phone for her nonetheless. Ciara mumbled some form of thanks and began to search through her contacts for Molly Hooper's mobile.

During her time at 221B, she had heard plenty about Molly from John, about how she constantly helped Sherlock and had a huge unrequited crush on him. Given that herself, Mary and Molly seemed to be the only really influential people in their lives, they had gone for drinks several times to bond over their odd-ball connections, while the boys had their nights-in playing with Rosie and solving cases from the living room.

The girl-nights had been great fun, leaving Ciara with fond memories of the times she had spent with Mary before she died. Molly had all but taken over looking after John and Rosie, but this meant that she and Ciara had little time to keep in touch. Now seemed as good a time as any to resolve that issue to pour her heart out about what a tit the eldest Holmes was being.

The phone rang several times before Ciara was about to lose her nerve and hang up.

"Hello?" Molly answered with a shaky voice. She too sounded as though she had just been crying.

"Molly? It's Ciara. I'm sorry to bother you, but I didn't know anyone else I could call" she sighed.

"No, no it's fi-fine. Is everything okay?" Molly sniffed. Ciara blinked, her eyebrows knitted together trying to figure out what was off.

"I was just hoping that I could stay on your couch for a while is all. I'm at Mycroft's but to be honest, I don't want to see him anytime soon when he gets back. Feel free to say no, but are you okay Molly? You sound like you too could use an ear?" she asked feebly. At this, Molly sobbed down the receiver.

"Oh g-….yes, come over. W-we had best get this out in p-person" she hiccupped. Ciara felt her tears welling up once more and said a quick goodbye.

Clearly, something had happened with Molly. Ciara's rational mind was telling her that the two events were connected and this hurt more than the actual phone call. Her mind raced through all possible causes and she figured that whatever was happening in Sherrinford, whatever words were being said on those phones, they had all been made under duress, and therefore meant absolutely nothing to the men who spoke them.

"Anthea, I want to go to Molly Hooper's place. I don't care what Mycroft's orders are. Either you can play nice and take me there with assistance and whatever escort you think necessary, or else I'm going to hurt myself trying" she threatened. A bemused smile broke across the assistant's face.

"Mr. Holmes-"

"I already said to hell with his orders".

"…..He said to make you comfortable and satisfy any requests you may have. I suppose this would count as getting to go visit a friend" she conceded. She may not have planned on letting Ciara stay there, but Ciara was determined that if Molly would have her, she would not be coming back from this 'friendly visit'.

#########################################################################

Back at Sherrinford, all three had passed on to the next room where Eurus was about to place them in an incredibly awkward position. Sherlock strode boldly forward, smoothing out his hair with his gun hand.

"Hey sis, don't mean to complain but this one's empty. What's wrong? Run out of ideas have you?" his voice boomed confidently. John had given him back his cool and he was ready for her next challenge, though perhaps not quite so ready for what she had in mind.

"It's not empty Sherlock. I told you that only two can go on to play the next game. Just two of you go on from here. It's make your mind up time. Whose help do you need the most? John or Mycroft? It's an elimination round. You choose one and kill the other. You have to choose family or friend? Mycroft or John Watson?"

"Eurus enough!" Mycroft snapped, exasperated by the endless fatalities.

"Not yet…I think, but nearly. Remember there's a plane in the sky, and it's not going to land" she cooed.

"Well?" Mycroft turned, raising his brow.

"Well what?" Sherlock asked, dumbfounded.

"We're no actually going to discuss this, are we? I am sorry, Dr. Watson. You're a fine man in many respects. Make your goodbyes and shoot him…Shoot him!".

"What?!" John roared, stepping back.

"Shoot Dr. Watson! There's no question who has to continue from here. It's us. You and me. Whatever lies ahead requires brain power, Sherlock, not sentiment. You'll only prolong his agony. Shoot him".

"Do I get a say in this?".

"Today we are soldiers. Soldiers die for their country. I regret, Dr. Watson, that privilege is now yours" Mycroft and John stared each other down, before John withdrew submissively.

"Shit. He's right. He is in fact right" he whispered, glancing at Sherlock with a frown.

"Make it swift. No need to prolong his agony. Get it over with and we can get to work". Nobody moved, and Sherlock stared at the ground, his hand trembling lightly. Mycroft scoffed, "Oh God, I should have expected this. Pathetic. You always were the slow one, the idiot. That's why I've always despised you. You shame us all. You shame the family name. Now for once in your life, do the right thing. Put this stupid little man out of all our misery. Shoot him!".

"Stop it" Sherlock ordered.

"Look at him. What is he? Nothing more than a distraction, a little scrap of ordinariness for you to impress, to dazzle with your cleverness. You'll find another".

"Please, for God's sake just stop it".

"Why?".

"Because, on balance, even your Lady Bracknell was more convincing. Ignore everything he just said. He's being kind. He's just trying to make it easy for me to kill him… which is why this is going to be so much harder" Sherlock was speaking to John in a calm voice but his shaking gun hand made it clear that he was anything but calm as he aimed the gun between his brother's eyes.

"You said you liked my Lady Bracknell" Mycroft hummed.

"Sherlock, don't" John stepped forward, his hands raised in surrender, hoping that he could stop the madness from ensuing.

"It's not your decision, Dr. Watson. Not in the face though, please. I promised by brain to the royal brain society" Mycroft smirked proudly.

"Where would you suggest then?" Sherlock gestured for him to continue his final reasoning, something his brother had always done and would probably never be doing again after these moments.

"Well, I suppose there is a heart somewhere inside me. I don't imagine it's much of a target but why don't we try for that?" Mycroft prepared himself for a soldier's death, straightening his suit, standing upright and staring down his executioner.

"I won't allow this" John said, stepping between them. There was a glint of panic, terror and guilt in his eyes.

"This is my fault. Moriarty" Mycroft assured them, his eyes looking meaningfully to Sherlock as he was letting him know there was yet more to learn.

"Moriarty?" Sherlock echoed.

"Her Christmas treat. 5 minutes conversation with Jim Moriarty, 5 years ago"

"What did they discuss?" Sherlock's voice was hard. His brother had made so many stupid little errors, but this was ridiculous. He let two of the most intelligent and dangerous minds meet each other?!

"5 minutes conversation…unsupervised". That was just the cherry on the cake. Looks of disappointment and regret were shared between the trio. Sherlock's breathing became more haggard as he braced himself for what was to come. "Goodbye, brother mine. No flowers. My request" he stood tall and prepared himself.

"Jim Moriarty thought you'd make this choice. He was so excited" Eurus' voice reminded them that they had a spectator. They were just puppets for her to be entertained by, lab rats for her to experiment with. Red lights flashed on and a final recording from Jim Moriarty played.

"Well here we are. The end of the line. Holmes killing Holmes…..This is where I get off".

"Five minutes…..It took her just five minutes to do all of this to us". Sherlock looked from Mycroft to John, making his final resolve. "Well not on my watch" he seethed, bringing the gun under his chin.

"What are you doing?" Eurus sat forward, her eyes widening with surprise.

"A moment ago, a brave man asked to be remembered. I'm remembering the governor. 10…" he counted.

"No, no Sherlock!" Eurus began to show the first signs of losing control.

"9….8…" Sherlock stared blankly forward as he continued is count. Mycroft and John were frozen. They dared not to interfere as they finally seemed to be getting the one-up on Eurus, but at the expense of Sherlock's life? They were unsure of what course of action would be needed. He would go through with it, but would she yield before he reached 0?

"You can't!".

"7….".

"You don't know about Redbeard yet. Sherlock!".

"6…".

"Sherlock!" she screamed.

"5….".

"Sherlock stop it at once!" pew! A sedative dart hit them all in the back of the skull.

"4…..3….2-" they fainted and hit the floor with a clumsy thump.

###########################################################################

Anthea had an undercover squad posted outside of Molly's home to make sure that the two women were protected but drew no special attention. With the aid of Molly and Anthea, Ciara made her way inside to the couch by the coffee table. Anthea withdrew to continue her work, while Molly sat beside Ciara and placed a box of tissues between the two of them.

"Do you want to go first?" she asked quietly. Her eyes were red a puffy from all of the crying she had done, and she looked emotionally exhausted. Ciara sighed, figuring she probably looked no better, and nodded. Running her fingers through her hair as if to soothe herself, she explained the situation as it had started out when 221B was blown to pieces. This was news to Molly as she had been working so many hours lately, she had become cut off from local events.

This lead to Ciara describing her current situation before back-tracking to the mystery surrounding Eurus. She told Molly of how the boys had gone to the place called Sherrinford to settle things but that they gave no inkling of what to expect or when they'd return. Molly sighed heavily, recalling the last phone call.

"Sherlock…..h-he…called to make me say that….I-I" her lips quivered. Ciara nodded in understanding and she reached out to squeeze Molly's hand. She pulled out some fresh tissues and passed them to her wordlessly before the tears began to roll once more.

"It's okay. Well, it's not actually. Mycroft did the same to me" Ciara mumbled, her eyes drifting around the room, looking for a distraction until she could pull herself together. "I think something big must be going down for them to have said that to us. Or else maybe they wanted us to get help for them. They must be going mad out there" she joked. It was met with a watery laugh and Molly wiped her face dry.

"Oh god, what are we going to do about them?" she huffed.

"Absolutely nothing. As far as I'm concerned, we're just collateral damage in all of this. Instead, we're going to refocus our attention elsewhere and just have a nice girl's night in" Ciara smiled grimly.

"This is going to be a long night then. You're welcome to stay here. I'll order in some Chinese and open some wine. I think we deserve to spend a night not thinking about those horrible Holmes boys for once" Molly nodded to herself. She liked the idea of not thinking about Sherlock, especially tonight, and she knew Ciara would be the best help in accomplishing that.

She was done feeling down about Sherlock and the roller-coaster that he could send her on. She imagined that Ciara was no different and so they had something in common that they could depend on one another for support. In a way, they were now sisters having a night in and making each other laugh at stupid mind-numbing TV shows. She was starting to feel better when Anthea came in to rain on their parade.

"I think it's time to go back home" she hinted, stepping through the doorway. Molly's smile disappeared and Ciara looked at Anthea with pure stubborn determination.

"I have no home. I'm staying with my friend Molly. What are you going to do? Drag me to my feet and force me to walk out to the car?" she dared. Molly smiled at this and looked to Anthea to see her reaction. The two women stared at each other in silence. It was a battle of the wills. Ciara held up a half-eaten tub of Ben-and-Jerrys. "Either join us or leave". Seeing no other way around this, Anthea sighed and left.

###########################################################################

Mycroft woke up. His head was pounding and a shallow bump suggested he had hit it off the floor on fainting. When he finally managed to sit up onto his knees, he took in his surroundings. He was in a dark room, dimly lit by candelabra hanging on the wall. The walls themselves were made of some kind of stone, limestone by the looks of it. The floor was cold, comprised of slabs of stones overlapping each other, and draughty. This suggested he was not directly on the ground floor, but perhaps several stories up. There were no windows and no obvious doors to be found, so this was all he had to go by for evidence of his location.

He was resting beside a rotten old mattress and could see nothing else in the room except for a few dead moths and cobwebs. His nose twitched with disgust as he noticed an aged pile of rat faeces to his left. What was most striking about the room, aside from the lack of exits, was that it had no corners. It was perfectly circular. He wanted to laugh to himself. His sister had locked him away in a round tower.

In his ear, an earpiece suddenly crackled to life, though the sound was dulled by some interference. It was Eurus' haunting voice, softly humming a rhyme to herself that was original in syntax, however the tones were borrowed from the _Time to Sleep_ lullaby.

"Now is Mycroft's time to sleep,

Listen as only one lover will weep.

My dearest brother, this is your end,

Can you make bugaboo your friend?".

"Eurus! It's time to put a stop to all of this nonsense! Enough of your games sister dear!" he bellowed at the ceiling. The only reply he received was the lullaby she sang repeating itself on loop. He felt he was being tormented. He ripped the ear piece out and stood to stumble around the room. He traced the wall and knocked firmly on each stone as he went. He figured that one of them would have a hollow sound and avail of an exit to another corridor or perhaps a stairwell. Each sharp knock was the same, and he could find no exit. The candles flickered as a wind disturbed the flames and extinguished the majority of them. Only one remained to give a faint glow.

He roared in frustration and dropped to his knees. Patting the floor around him, he retrieved the ear piece. Eurus loved to play her games and provide difficult puzzles. If he was to escape alive, he would have to beat her at her own game. He listened once more to the rhyme.

"Now is Mycroft's time to sleep,

Listen as only one lover will weep.

My dearest brother, this is your end,

Can you make bugaboo your friend?".

The first two lines he figured meant that he would die as Victor Trevor had died. The lover that would mourn his death was most likely Ciara after the earlier trial he had completed. A painful reminder to try and distract him from logical thinking. He refused to be so easily misguided. The key to escape would be in the final couplet. He listened closely once more, the earpiece was becoming fainter and fainter.

"My dearest brother, this is your end,

Can you make bugaboo your friend?".

Bugaboo…..Another name used to refer to the bogeyman. The bogeyman was a fictitious creature used to frighten little kids. It hid under their beds and would come to take the naughty children away.

He could see the game his sister was playing so clearly. He had turned her into a bogeyman all those years that Sherlock had blocked her memory out of his mind. He claimed to have been monitoring his mental state, and he had, but it was through a very childish method that he had done it. Eurus was Sherlock's bugaboo, now loose to terrorise him for her own reasons.

Finally, it dawned on Mycroft as to where he should seek an exit. With the remainder of the light, he stalked over to the old mattress and threw it aside. The area beneath where the mattress once stood had covered a large, square slab of rock that was supported by the surrounding slabs. Kneeling down, he used his fingers to coax the edges upwards and with a bit of effort, he managed to shift the rock aside. He smirked triumphantly as a gust of wind came from the uncovered hole that would lead to the exit.

Footholds were gouged into the sides of the wall, though they were a bit hard to find in the darkness. Slowly and carefully, Mycroft made his escape down the man-made ladder and found himself at the base of a centuries old round tower. Most likely, it was an abandoned watch tower which was in a secluded area but under protection as a historic site, hence why it had not been demolished.

He made his way outside through a doorway with a rickety old door hanging from rusty nails. Outside, the sky was clear and he was greeted by a clearing of fields and hedges for miles. Having no idea where the nearest town would be, he gazed up at the stars and located what he believed to be the North Star. Following that, he figured he would eventually reach a main or even secondary road, by which he could borrow a phone and call for assistance.

It took him half an hour to accomplish this. All the while, he spent his time worrying about his brother and the doctor, how they would react when they learnt the truth about Redbeard, and what he would be returning to in London. His relationship with his brother would be worse than ever. Whether or not John Watson was alive would mediate the severity of this strain.

His career would be in jeopardy as he finally let his family life cause great disturbance to civilians and there would have to be consequences, no cover ups and excuses this time around.

The one change he was least apprehensive of was that of his relationship with Ciara. While he had said those words because Eurus had forced him to, a weight had been lift off his shoulders when he said them. He felt a wave of nausea when he thought about saying them to her face-to-face, but it was accompanied by an appetitive excitement. He believed he wanted to tell her that he loved her, and that he wanted to resume their prior courtship.

He hadn't realised how much he craved her particular companionship until she was gone and he was left with a world full of Alicia Smallwoods. Despite how pleasant that woman was, she was still lacking in that certain warming effect which Miss Murphy brought about in the pit of his stomach. This alone was enough motivation for him to quicken his pace across the countryside.

He eventually stumbled on a small village and entered the nearest tavern. He deduced long ago that Eurus would probably return with Sherlock to Musgrave for the big finale of her games. She was mad and clever enough to return to the scene of the crime, he was sure, and so the first call he made was to mobilise a security team to go straight there and aid Sherlock Holmes in securing Eurus Holmes once more.

He then requested that a helicopter be sent to retrieve him at the nearest convenience. Once these affairs were settled, there was nothing more he could do except sit with his head in his hands at the darkest corner and wait.


	21. Chapter 21

The proceeding sleepless days for Mycroft were spent cleaning up the excitement of Sherrinford. There was hardly any time for him to make any personal house calls to 221B Baker Street to check in on his little brother and cohort. Even less so, he kept avoiding the inevitable phone call he would have to make to Ciara. No, he had to be the Ice Man, using his intellectual prowess to protect his family and maintain his position of power, while diffusing the tensions of the British government. Not easily done, though not nearly as daunting as the backlash of outrage he received from his parents.

His phone pinged as a text notification made itself known. Unlocking it, his assistant was updating him that his house guest was after locating alternative accommodation and was in the process of collecting her belongings from his home. His head dropped forward as he considered his options. He expected that she would be upset and elect to move out, but he hadn't anticipated how quickly she would find a new residence. He had anticipated being able to talk to her within the next day or two to accomplish that much, and persuade her to stay a while longer until they figured things out. Another notification appeared on screen, this time his e-mail inbox about postponing his afternoon board meeting until after office hours. He sighed heavily, recognising that this meant the meeting would be a matter of minimising damage to his siblings' outcomes than negotiating for further privileges. The council were no longer permitting the Holmes' to get away with murder (excuse the pun).

He hit the dial icon to Anthea. "Send the car around. I want to see my guest off".

Bags packed and waiting by the door, Ciara was doing a final glance around what had been her living space to be sure she would have no reason to return for a missing item. Her leg was healing nicely, and she was attempting to put the lightest bits of pressure on it, though it would flare up if she leaned on it too long, or at an extended angle. A knock on her door brought her out of her mental scan. Anthea entered and smiled easily at her.

"I hope you are in no rush, but Mr Holmes is on his way to see you off" she greeted, holding up her phone as though to prove her point. Ciara stared dumbly at her, then rolled her eyes.

"Of course he is. Well, I hate to disappoint. Perhaps he can just say his goodbye from the backseat window" she dismissed the assistant, and hobbled passed her towards the front door. Anthea, like a shadow, followed along behind her while tapping on her phone. Presumably, she was texting her boss for her next instruction. Fortunately for Anthea, there was no need, as the front door swung aside to reveal Mycroft himself. Ciara paused and Anthea excused herself to go attend other business elsewhere. They held each other's gaze, listening to the sound of the sedan crunching the gravel outside. Ciara crossed her arms as Mycroft cleared his throat to speak, but was cut-off.

"I understand that things said under duress are not always straight forward" Ciara spoke quietly. "Sherlock….he came around Molly's this morning and told us everything. About your sister and about everything that she put you guys through. You clearly are going to have your hands full with your family and shouldn't have to be putting up with someone that you only invited to your home as recompense for what I did for Sherlock, which is why I intend to leave right away". Mycroft stared at her and cocked his eyebrow incredulously.

"That is not why- …Ciara, may we continue this in the sitting area?" he gestured for her to step through, but she only frowned at him. Exasperated by her defiance, he threw his hands up with a loud exhale and shut the front door behind him. "Very well. Have it your way on this, but hear me when I say that that was not the sole reason I invited you to stay here. You are correct in deducing that it is partly to blame, however there is also the matter that I handle my emotions quite poorly, particularly those of affection for someone that is not a blood relative. I selfishly saw an opportunity to have you stay under my roof and seized it because I do care for you more than I would normally allow myself to admit. In fact, as evidence of that is exactly the reason why our friendship fell into such disarray. Mary's death affected the way I thought about our intimacy, but once I had selfishly- no, foolishly broken that off and tried to go on without your companionship, I was at a loss. Lady Smallwood was no substitute for what I experienced with you, and I regret my actions terribly" he paused, taking a moment to let his words sink in and to process them himself. He had rehearsed what he would say in the car, but now the floodgates were open and absolutely anything was liable to spill out. Ciara felt her hands start shaking, and she swallowed the anger that had died in her throat the moment he started to ramble on passionately at her.

"Even so, you could have just talked to me".

"Yes, and I would have made matters worse, given my inability to express my emotions to begin with".

"You're doing it now, no?"

"I'm trying to. There's a difference. Eurus forced me to doing that which I never thought I could do before: Admit my feeling for you. But since I have done as much, I would like to continue to try and find other means by which to express my love for you, if you'll let me" he concluded softly, and held out his hand to her. Her eyes widened and her jaw slackened as she glanced between his hand and his eyes. She was trying her own hand at deductions, to see how much he meant what he said. There was no doubt he believed what he said, but exactly how determined would he be to see it through. It was quite possible he would grow bored, or find it did not suit him to be in a serious relationship. Ciara could find no signs to doubt him. His hand was steady, his gaze was sharp yet pleading, and she could not shake her own feeling that this was what she desired. Taking his hand, she allowed herself to be guided into the sitting room, where they would have tea and some catching up to do.

###### Fin ######


End file.
